Staring at the Sun
by amonitrate
Summary: It's the first year of Sonny and Rico's partnership, and a routine undercover meet goes bad. Warnings for violence, occasionally more brutal than the typical episode. Takes place after Golden Triangle in season one. Gen. Work in Progress.
1. Chapter 1: Heat

It's the first year of Sonny and Rico's partnership, and a routine undercover meet goes bad.

Warnings for violence, occasionally more brutal than the typical episode. Takes place after _Golden Triangle_ in season one. Gen. 

**1. Heat  
**  
Sweat trickled down the skin of Rico's back between his shoulder blades,  
tickling him. Days like this, the hardest part about being under was  
staying still, staying cool when all he wanted to do was rip off his jacket  
and take a damn shower. Any fidget, any sign of nerves or distraction could  
scare off the twitchy suckers they dealt with, could get him or Sonny blown  
away before he could blink.

The thing about Miami - it was hot. Sonny didn't seem to mind so much,  
but hell - he didn't know any better. The man had never lived anywhere else,  
'cept for that short jaunt in Nam, which could rival the Sunshine State for  
humidity. And the lieutenant - well, Rico had yet to see the man even break  
a sweat.

Ricardo Tubbs was a Bronx boy, born and raised. He'd thought he'd had  
his fair share of scorchers, but in New York the heat even at its worst  
never lasted more than a few weeks before it broke. But Miami - man, Miami  
was going to kill him. The heat was relentless, it wrapped you up tight and  
squeezed.

At first he'd liked it - the laid back contrast to New York's bluster, the change from  
the frigid wind and snow to sand and green water. He hadn't missed the snow  
a bit. But man, in Miami the weather never changed. Made him nervous,  
made him watch the skies for a storm to break up the perfect blue of the  
damn sky.

Still, he didn't go back north. Didn't even cross his mind until he  
realized it had been months since he'd thought of Brooklyn as home. Despite  
the heat that threatened to hold him immobile some days, Miami was in his  
blood now. The alien brightness, the cheery tropical fascade that covered  
layer upon layer of filth and decadence fascinated him. Half the time he  
felt like a stowaway in some exotic land.

Didn't matter though - even if he'd wanted to he couldn't go back to New  
York. Not and be a cop. Not after what he'd pulled. By all rights the  
Miami squad should have kicked his ass outta the state, not given him a job  
(and a promotion at that), partnered him with the best detective they had,  
and set him up with the wheels and threads to support his free-wheeling  
cover.

Sometimes it still blew his mind.

Today Burnett was doing the talking, and that was fine with Rico. Talking  
would take too much damn effort. All Rico had to do was stand back and look  
intimidating, rich, and ready to deal. He leaned back against the hot metal  
of the caddie and watched his partner from behind his shades.

There was an edge to Sonny's voice that made Rico want to get this meet  
over with so they could get the hell out. Sonny had been burning fumes for  
the last week, and Rico didn't need the lieutenant to tell him to keep an  
eye on his partner. Castillo had given them that look yesterday, the look  
Rico knew meant they'd be pulled off the case if everything didn't stay  
smelling minty fresh.

That'd be fine with Rico. He hadn't liked this one from the start, but he  
trusted Sonny's instincts, so he'd gone along. Sonny Crockett was one of  
the best damn undercover cops he'd ever worked with. It was unnerving,  
sometimes, how easy being Burnett was to Sonny. Burnett was Sonny - Sonny  
hardened, with his ideals and his heart scorched away. Rico never felt that  
comfortable as Ricardo Cooper. He knew COoper didn't go deep enough in him,  
so he kept everything on the surface. It had worked so far. He didn't know  
if he wanted to know Cooper that closely. Didn't know if he could.

Burnett laughed at something their mark said, and Rico refocussed his  
attention on the deal going down. Sonny glanced his way, smirking, but his  
eyes were sharp. There was something Rico was missing about this whole set  
up, and he had to cross his arms over his chest to keep from reaching for  
his gun. De Soto was too sure of himself. Burnett and Cooper were supposed  
to have the upper hand in this deal, but de Soto was acting like they'd  
handed him the keys to the city. The dealer smiled big and wide, showing a  
line of even white teeth as he shook Burnett's hand, as if they were sealing  
a real estate deal, not a contract for 4 million dollars worth of South  
America's finest export. He ignored the glares of his own goons and gave  
Burnett a friendly pat on the shoulder. Like Burnett was some rookie he was  
proud of.

Rico straightened up and let his arms fall to his side. He didn't like it.  
Sonny had pushed too hard for this one, pushed everyone until even Gina lost  
her temper with him. He didn't know why Castillo hadn't yanked Sonny's  
chain. He'd just told Sonny not to move on de Soto until they got the name  
of his supplier and got him on tape. Then he'd turned his attention to the  
closed folder on his desk, dismissing them without a word.

Sometimes Castillo made Rico crazy.

De Soto was leaving. One of his goons held the door to his town car open  
while the other two watched Burnett. They seemed to have forgotten about  
Cooper. Gravel crunched behind him and Rico half-turned, not wanting to  
take his attention away from his partner. He had time to be aware of a blur  
heading toward his face and then everything ... just... stopped.


	2. Chapter 2: Chill

**2. Chill**

It was dark, and he was moving. His head was big and heavy. Something hard  
and bumpy under his cheek. Opening his eyes turned out to be a bad idea, as  
the world lurched and spun around him in a queasy streak of shadows.

Not good.

Rumble of an engine under him. Van maybe.

Where the hell was Sonny?

Later. Quiet, the engine sound gone. Still - not moving - damp cement  
floor leeching the warmth from his body. He shivered and felt the pull on  
his wrists, realized his arms were twisted behind his back.

Damn.

Tested his legs and found them unbound. He was lying on his side, face  
pressed to the floor from the awkward position of his arms. His jacket was  
missing.

Rico squashed the urge to pull on his wrists again, to panic. Tried to  
listen to the room. Keep calm. Stay limp, like he wasn't awake. Someone  
wanted something from him, or he'd be dead already. And by now Castillo  
should know the meet went sour.

At first all he could hear was his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears.  
Then breathing. Couldn't tell if it was echoes of his own until he held his  
breath, and the sound continued. Quicker than he was breathing, fast and  
shallow.

Rico opened his eyelids to slits. This time the world stayed pretty still.  
He had a clear view of a grimy floor and grey cinderblock walls. Dim light  
- a window? He couldn't see one. Then he noticed a foot in the upper range  
of his vision. A bare foot.

He hadn't heard any sign of a third presence. Decided to risk moving.  
Rico pulled his knees up and pushed with his feet until he slid over the  
floor a few feet. He craned his neck to get a better look at the owner of  
the foot. Had to shut his eyes a moment as the world greyed out and his  
head protested.

Rico waited for his stomach to stop trying to crawl up his throat and then  
opened his eyes again. About five feet away there was another man lying on  
the floor with his back to Rico. Wrists bound with wire. The hands were  
limp. Rico couldn't see much of the other captive's head but there was no  
way the peach sleeveless t-shirt belonged to anyone but his partner.

Rico's chest went tight with relief.

"Sonny," he hissed, "Sonny, you alright?"

Sonny didn't move. That quick way he was breathing didn't change either.  
Damn.

Sonny was curled on his side, his legs bent. One of his shoes was missing.  
His linen pants were crumpled and stained. There was a dark patch of oil  
soaked into the material, near the back of his knee. He was lying in a  
small puddle of it.

Rico went cold. He was on his knees before he knew it. His head spun but  
all he could think was that it wasn't oil that Sonny was lying in.

He tried to pull himself to his feet. All he gained was a scraped jaw and a  
renewed flare of pain in his head when he couldn't catch his fall. The  
floor and he were starting to be great friends. He regained his knees and  
shuffled to the nearest wall, braced his shoulder against it and pushed,  
using the solid support to counterbalance his bound arms until he was mostly  
upright.

Then he had to wait until the room swam back into focus and he caught his  
breath. Rico rested his temple against the cool brick wall. The right side  
of his head felt encased in hot metal, and for the first time he noticed the  
itch of drying blood. Great. Like he needed a concussion to complicate  
what was shaping up to be one of his worst days in Miami.

"Sonny." One of his partner's bound hands twitched. "Sonny, come on man."

Once he was sure he wasn't going to kiss the floor again if he moved, Rico  
staggered toward Sonny, shoulder to the wall for balance. One foot, then  
the other, and his feet were so heavy. By the time he reached his partner  
sweat was running down his back again despite the room's chill. He couldn't  
hear Sonny's breathing anymore through the roaring in his own ears.

"You better not be dead, partner."

Rico eased himself back to his knees, sure he'd fall if he tried to walk  
without the wall's support. The light was brighter here. A small barred  
window hovered over his shoulder, near the ceiling. He could see greenery  
outside the glass. They were in a basement.

Turned out Rico had got off pretty light. Sonny was pale under his tan,  
where he wasn't black and blue. The side of his face that Rico could see  
was cut and swollen. His nose was bloody and looked broken. And there was a  
small dark circle above and to the side of his left knee. Entry wound.  
Must not have hit a major artery or he'd have bled out by now.

Not that Rico could have done anything anyway without his hands. He  
couldn't even check Sonny's pulse. His partner's chest still rose and fell  
and Rico had to accept that there wasn't much he could do for Sonny 'cept  
sit watch over him.


	3. Chapter 3: Waiting

**3. Waiting**

The light was dim when Rico jerked awake. Cold cinderblock wall digging  
into his back. Arms aching, head aching, everything cramped and hurt. He  
rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to relieve the tension, knowing it  
wouldn't work. It had to have been hours since the ambush but without his  
watch time seemed fluid and uncertain.

He tried to blink the sleep out of his mind. No one had come into the  
cellar room, no one had asked him any questions, that he remembered anyway.  
Why go to all the fuss of keeping them alive and tied up if they weren't  
needed?

Tired of the silence and the not-knowing, Rico nudged his partner with one  
foot.

"Sonny?"

The pool of blood under Sonny's legs hadn't spread much. His face, though,  
had puffed up and darkened around his eye. And he was shivering.

"Wake up, man. You gotta wake up." Rico's voice bounced off the walls in  
a dull echo.

Sonny shifted like he was trying to roll over. Moving must have jarred his  
wounded leg - he let out a low sound, not quite a moan.

"Just lay still. Comeon, Sonny. I'm tired of talkin to myself."

"Caroline?" Sonny's voice was hoarse and slurred. He pulled on his wrists  
but didn't try to move again.

"Sorry, partner. She's not here right now," Rico kept talking, hoping the  
sound would pull Sonny out of dreamland.

"Rico." This time it wasn't a question.

"Yeah. Yeah, Sonny, it's me." Rico pushed away from the wall and scooted  
closer to his partner. Sonny's head lifted slightly at the sound. He  
opened his eyes as much as he could and grimaced.

"You look like hell," Sonny rasped. Rico figured it was a guess, since he  
couldn't have been able to see that clearly with one eye swollen shut and  
the sunlight fading by the minute.

"Shoulda seen the other guy."

Sonny winced, like he'd tried to laugh and decided it was a bad idea.

"Where-"

"Not a clue. I woke up a couple hours ago. Looks like a cellar of some  
kind."

"De Soto?" Sonny closed his eyes.

"Last thing I saw, he was getting in his car."

"Damn."

"Yeah." Rico crossed his legs, trying to find a less-uncomfortable  
position. "What do you remember?"

"Cocky," Sonny swallowed. "He was too cocky. Kept giving me that  
shit-eating grin."

Sonny tried to sit up. The attempt ripped a curse from him and he fell  
back to the floor, hard.

"Man, I hate gettin shot," he groaned, breathing hard.

"I told you to lie still," Rico teased. He couldn't quite cover the worry  
in his voice. Sonny's leg had started bleeding again.

"Yeah, thanks, pal." Sonny did his best to glare but the expression didn't  
carry much weight in his rearranged face. "What do they want with us?"

"Dunno. I don't even know if it's de Soto who snatched us, or some other  
player."

As he spoke there was a sound at the door.

"I think we're about to find out."


	4. Chapter 4: Stripped

4. Stripped

The steel door to the cell swung open into the room. Sonny's back was to the door, and he wouldn't be able to turn without causing himself a world of hurt. His gaze flickered to Rico and his lips thinned.

Rico pushed to his feet, standing over his partner. 

The black barrel of an M16 poked through the doorway and hovered there a long minute, then the gunman stepped a pace into the room. Average height, nondescript - not one of the goons who had accompanied de Soto to the meet. Wide spaced eyes in a tan face, with the thousand-yard stare Rico had seen in vets of combat in the military and the drug trade both. He held the gun loose in his hands. Comfortable with it. 

A dangerous man. 

"Stay where you are."

M16 didn't threaten. Used to his orders being followed. Rico nodded once. Wished he'd had a chance to try and free his hands. When Rico obeyed, M16 took two steps to the side and another man followed in his wake. Taller and bulkier and shiny-bald. 

"You," baldy barked at Rico, "Out. Follow me."

Rico glanced down at Sonny. Sonny's eyes were wide open, his jaw set. 

"Not until my partner gets some medical attention." 

M16 raised his weapon. "It wasn't a request."

"You wanted us both alive. Way I see it, somebody screwed up when my partner got shot. What's your boss gonna say if he bleeds to death when you coulda stopped it?"

"Rico," Sonny warned. He gave a minute shake of his head.

Baldy was across the room and had planted a boot in Sonny's back before Rico had time to react. Sonny writhed on the floor, choking, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Now." M16 jerked his chin toward the door.

Rico waited until he was sure Sonny wasn't going to pass out, then approached the men. Baldy whipped a long piece of black cloth out of a pocket and roughly tied it over Rico's eyes. The air lodged in his throat. Shit. 

The echo of Sonny's gasping breaths followed him as Baldy shoved him out of the room.

Narrow hallway sounds then another heavy door opened and he was shoved into an open space. Without his hands to balance him he went down hard, his shoulder slamming into the cool, smooth floor. Tile this time instead of concrete.

"Get up," M16 ordered. When Rico tried and failed to regain his feet big hands grabbed his arms and hauled him upright. Hands on his arms and cold metal and then the wire fell away from his wrists.

"Strip."

Rico went cold. "What?"

"Your ears work just fine." Baldy, to his left. M16 somewhere behind him. If he could-

The hard prodding of the gun between his shoulders stopped that train of thought.

"I won't ask again."

Rico's half-numb fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. The smooth buttons kept getting caught in the silk. He dropped the shirt, listened to it flutter to the floor. His tie and his belt were gone already. Shit. Shit shit, this was not happening. He reached for the waistband of his slacks and couldn't get any further.

"Look, man, whatever it is you want with us-"

He felt one of them step toward him and went rigid. A hand gripped his hair and then for a moment all he knew was agony as the diamond stud was ripped from his earlobe. 

"Okay. Okay..." he held his hands up, breathing hard. His stomach turned over and he swallowed down bile. "Whatever you say, man."


	5. Chapter 5: Pros

**5. Pros**

After they were finished Rico was shoved into another room - or maybe back to the first room. It was impossible to tell with the blindfold. At least when Baldy had recuffed his hands it was with actual handcuffs instead of wire. On the other hand, they hadn't given his clothes back.

"Sonny?" he tried after the door slammed shut with a bang.

His voice echoed dully and he got no response. He ventured forward until he found the rough brick of a wall. Used it to navigate the circumference of the room, pausing every few steps to listen for any sign of his partner. Either he was alone or Sonny was dead. Rico gave up searching when he realized he had lost track of where he'd started. 

The room was small and cold, and they hadn't given him anything to dry off with. He was shivering already, and not just from the chill. Rico sank to the floor, huddled up to try and conserve what little warmth he had left. He tried scraping the back of his head against the wall to loosen the blindfold but it was tied too tight.

What the hell did these creeps want? They'd poked and prodded at him, but no one had asked him any damn questions. He rested his head against his drawn up knees and waited. Wasn't anything else he could do.

He didn't have to wait long. At least it didn't feel long. The sound of the steel door crashing open brought Rico's head up with a jerk. 

"Hey, guys, go easy." Rico relaxed a fraction at the familiar voice, even if there was an undercurrent of tension there that tripped the well-honed danger alert in his head. 

Rico stood and listened hard, trying to get as much information as he could while he had the chance. Two sets of footsteps and a dry dragging sound - probably Sonny. The rattle and click of metal. A thud and a grunt of pain when Sonny hit the floor. Then the footsteps retreated and the door banged shut again.

"This day just keeps gettin better," Sonny grated out.

"No kidding, partner." Rico couldn't help a short laugh of relief. He heard Sonny suck in a quick breath.

"Rico?" Sonny didn't try to cover his surprise.

"Yeah, man. I'm here. You okay?" Rico found his place on the floor again and rolled his shoulders.

"Not really," Sonny coughed. "They take your clothes?"

"You must be blindfolded too or you wouldn't be asking that." 

"Cold shower and a physical?"

"Glad to know I didn't miss any of the perks. I tried to tell them I'd already had my turn-and-cough for the year. Guess they didn't believe me." 

"They tell you anything?" Sonny shifted again. Probably trying to get comfortable. 

"Nope. These are some seriously tight-lipped dudes." 

"Yeah, real professionals." There was a note of strain in his partner's voice that Rico didn't like. "Even bandaged up the leg they shot."

Rico let silence fall between them, turning the situation over in his mind. So far there had been no sign of de Soto. Had they been made? M16 and Baldy hadn't called him by either of his names, just ordered him around in clipped bursts. As few words as possible. When he'd hesitated, they'd made sure he knew the price of disobedience, but there wasn't any emotion in it. They were just doing their jobs. 

The quiet was broken by a mechanical whir, and then the hiss of blowing air. A moment later Rico felt a cold draft from above his head.

"Great," Sonny coughed again, "Air conditioning."

"As if we need it down here." The metal of the cuffs was already cold against his bare back. "I think we should complain to the management."

There was a funny pause. They'd worked together too closely for Rico not to recognize when his partner was holding something back, even when he couldn't see him.

"Sonny?"

"Real professional," Sonny murmured. "So why'd they put us back in the same room?"

"Sonny-"

"They let you get a look around at all? Did you get any sense of the location?"

Rico shook his head, then smirked at himself. "Not a peek. There was a short hall and then a room with a shower. We could be anywhere."

"Maybe," Sonny's voice had gone thin and brittle. 

"What is it?" Rico asked when Sonny didn't elaborate.

"Dunno yet. But it just doesn't add up. It's too..."

Sonny sounded like he was talking to himself, like he'd forgotten Rico was there with him. Rico waited but Sonny didn't continue. He could hear the metallic click of Sonny's cuffs rubbing against the chain, like Sonny was trying to pull his hands through the tight loops. 

"Comeon, talk to me, partner." Rico turned a little so he could lean against the wall without putting pressure on his arms. "What doesn't add up?"

"They keep us cuffed and blindfolded. Leave us naked, patch up my leg, give us the full cavity search, then leave us here with the AC running full tilt."

"Yeah?" Rico prodded. "So what's it mean?"

For a long moment he didn't think Sonny would answer. When the whoosh of the air conditioning cut off without warning the silence rang in his ears.

"It means," Sonny said slowly, "That whoever these guys are, they've got training."


	6. Chapter 6: Hit

**6. Hit**

A chaos of red and blue lights and radio static swirled around Gina  
Calabrese, but the only thought that she could grasp with any strength was  
useless to anyone.

_We were supposed to be at The Forge right now._

After stonewalling for two months she'd finally given in to the  
invitation. Sonny had stood up for her at the Ramirez inquest and she hadn't  
been able to look him in the eye for that. She'd killed Ramirez. She'd killed him,  
when she knew he hadn't been a real threat to her. And Sonny had known that too.  
She'd seen it in his face the night Ramirez died. 

Things had been bad between them for a long time afterwards and she couldn't lay it all on him.   
Even if Ramirez had lived, too much had happened. She'd let too much happen. Sonny had been  
the last person she wanted to talk to, or catch looking at her with that mix of concern and doubt that  
she saw now and again even in her partner. But in the end she'd been worn down by his goddamn persistent charm.

Besides, she'd already slept with the guy. So what was  
dinner?

_Called off, that's what. Maybe for good._

She and Trudy stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the tail end of Tubbs' baby  
blue caddie. Zito hovered nearby, chewing his fingernails and eyeing the  
Lieutenant. Uniforms and forensics drifted in and out of the scene, and a  
sparse line of gawkers had formed at the edge of the fluttering yellow tape  
that roped off this section of the underpass. No cameras yet, but it was  
only a matter of time.

Lt. Castillo turned away from the officer first on the scene and just stood  
there for a long moment, backlit by the floodlights, one hand rubbing at his  
right temple. Beyond Castillo and all of the uniforms and plainsclothes Homicide guys  
Gina could just see the edges of a black body bag. If he could have had his way, Gina  
knew the lieutenant would have banned the Vice squad from the scene. But Castillo  
was a realist. He knew his detectives wouldn't stay away. He'd just ordered  
them to stay back and no one had been brave (or stupid) enough to disobey.

She and Trudy had been working the streets, routine stuff, when Larry  
screeched to the curb in front of them twenty minutes too early. He hadn't  
bothered with their usual patter, just told them to get in the car. That  
he'd heard over the radio that there had been a shooting near where Crockett  
and Tubbs were supposed to meet Luiz de Soto. For once Larry Zito had left  
the jokester behind and that more than his words had pulled her into the car  
with no thought of maintaining her cover.

Because de Soto was unpredictable. So was Crockett, never more so than when  
he was under. And it had always seemed to be a matter of time before Sonny  
finally failed to talk his way out of trouble.

_"Wear something nice," he'd said with a smirk, dragging his gaze down the  
skin-tight sheath she'd chosen for her streetwalk that morning. "I don't  
think they'll let you into The Forge in that get-up."_

"Oh yeah?" she'd run her hand down her hip, staring pointedly at the snug  
peach tee he wore under his leather holster, "And you're the picture of  
respectability, I suppose."

And Sonny flashed her that grin, the one full of teeth, the one that could  
either light up his whole face or signal that he was about to go for your  
throat.

"Darlin, if I was respectable you wouldn't be interested."

Trudy's nudge pulled Gina out of her circling thoughts. Castillo was  
approaching, his solemn gaze fixed somewhere over their heads.

"Where's Switek?" he asked.

Gina blinked. In her worry she hadn't even noticed Stan's absence. Trudy  
shook her head, but Larry stepped forward, hands thrust deep into the  
pockets of his jeans.

"He had to wait for someone to replace him at the Taglia stakeout."

Castillo gave Larry a sharp nod.

"Lieutenant-" Trudy pulled away from Gina.

Castillo closed his eyes, his head down. "They're not here."

Gina's chest tightened. Rico and Sonny weren't here. Weren't in body bags.  
But they hadn't made their last check-in either.

"So who're the stiffs?" Larry asked.

"De Soto and three members of his organization. Two shots each, to the back  
of the head." Castillo raised his head and this time he looked straight at  
Gina.

"How long ago?" Trudy moved back to Gina's side. The warmth of Trudy's arm  
as it brushed Gina's sent her shivering.

"Medical examiner estimates six hours."

"Any sign of Crockett or Tubbs?"

_You mean besides the obvious?_ The damn car was still here.

"A Bren-ten was found by de Soto's car. It hadn't been fired."

Sonny would never have left that gun behind. And it wasn't exactly a common  
piece.

"Anyone gunning for de Soto's territory?" Trudy slipped a hand into Gina's  
and squeezed.

Castillo shook his head. "I doubt if this was a turf war. The hit was too  
clean. De Soto and his men never fired a shot."

"Then what happened?" Gina didn't realize she'd spoken until she found the  
others staring at her.

"I don't know." Castillo glanced back at the men loading de Soto and his  
cronies into two ambulances. "Call Switek and have him meet us at OCB.  
We'll know more when forensics gives us a report."

With that, the two men turned away. Trudy touched Gina's cheek. "You  
okay?"

Gina grasped her partner's hand. "No."

"Yeah." Trudy pulled her into a hug. "Me neither."


	7. Chapter 7: Crash

**7. Crash**

He was tired, his head and wrists were killing him, his torn earlobe was on fire, he was trembling from  
the chill and the indignity of being dumped naked and blind in some basement  
cell somewhere, and the thing that got to Rico most was that he didn't know  
what time it was. They'd been left alone for what felt like hours, but he  
had no way to tell. And it was driving him mad.

His partner didn't seem bothered by the lack of clothing or watch. He had his own  
hangup to worry over.

"They shoulda separated us by now," Sonny's words slurred a little. "Why  
put us back together? It doesn't make any sense."

He'd said this before, but he hadn't explained.

The conversation was going circular on them. It was better than fishing,  
though, which was what Sonny had demanded they talk about in exchange for  
agreeing to the agonizing task of dragging his ass over to sit against the  
wall next to Rico. Who knew there was so much to say about fish?

"Maybe they're not as well trained as you think."

He felt Sonny shake his head. "They're pros. It's all been standard  
procedure. Straight from KUBARK."

Sonny's skin was icy next to his, and Rico wasn't feeling particularly  
warm. His mind was working too slow. He had to fight both the cold and the  
constant throb in his head just to connect his thoughts. KUBARK. He'd heard  
of it.

"CIA interrogation manual, right?" He wished he could see his partner's  
face. He hadn't said anything but Rico could tell he was in pain from the uneven way he was  
breathing. "I heard they're using some version of it to train  
counterrevolutionaries in central america. I take it you're familiar?"

Sonny let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"You could say that."

Sonny seemed to know the habits of the Company well enough. Not as  
intimately as the lieutenant maybe.There had been hints that he'd worked  
with Army Intelligence in 'Nam, but he'd never said anything about how far  
his involvement went. What little he had said made it clear he'd had  
his share of brushes with the CIA. The intelligence agencies were always in  
each other's pockets, when they weren't actively undermining each other's  
missions.

"So what's the standard procedure?"

"Hmm?" Sonny's breath hitched and he squirmed, his shoulder bumping into  
Rico's. "Can't feel my damn hands anymore."

Despite the intermittent blasts from the damn air conditioner, his partner  
had stopped shivering. Rico knew it was a bad sign. There wasn't much he  
could do besides keep Sonny talking.

"Sonny," Rico pressed, "Tell me about this manual. About the standard  
procedure."

"It was a long time ago," Sonny hedged, shifting again.

"You got anything better to do? Tell me what we're in for."

"The prisoner is taken by surprise, to maximize confusion. Kept cuffed and  
blindfolded. Naked, obviously."

The AC shut down again. Wouldn't stay off long enough for them to get  
warm, but even so it was a relief.

"What else?" Rico asked. Damn, but his shoulders hurt. The ache radiated  
down his neck to his lower back, the muscles protesting with an occasional  
spasm.

A long pause. When Sonny spoke again his voice was thin.

"Rico, I gotta lay back down."

"The floor's gonna make you feel colder."

"Tell me somthin I don't know."

"Dizzy?" Rico tried to remember the symptoms of shock. How long could  
Sonny last in this cold? How much blood had he lost?

"Yeah," Sonny admitted, "Startin to regret that reuben I had at Benny's."

He sucked in a quick breath of air and then moved. Changing position  
was hard without your hands but he did it, a little at a time, and the  
effort left him gasping.

"Shit," Sonny panted. His hair brushed Rico's bare thigh. Rico gave him a  
few minutes but his partner couldn't seem to get his breathing back under control.

"You okay?" Had he passed out? "Sonny?"

"Yeah."

"Stay with me, man. You gotta stay awake."

"Easier said..."

"Than done. I know. Tell me more about why you think these guys are  
working from the CIA playbook."

"The exam," Sonny said.

"You mean the full cavity search? Not the usual MO of scuzz like de Soto."

"No. But it is if they're following KUBARK."

"So you don't think de Soto ambushed us?"

"Didn't say that. Could be hired guns. Spooks. Paramilitary.  
Whoever they are..."

"They've got training," Rico finished. "Still, none of this fits with what  
we know about de Soto's organization."

Sonny's agreement was drowned out by the click and whir of the air  
conditioner's return to life.

"They'll keep that up," Sonny said, "And if we fall asleep they'll wake us  
up at random intervals."

"They want us on edge."

"You got it."

"What you said earlier - if they're so well trained, they should be keepin  
us in different rooms, right?"

"Yeah," Sonny moved again, his head butting into Rico. "Been thinking  
about that. It's the only thing that doesn't fit."

"Could be they're improvising," Rico suggested He rested the back of his  
head against the rough brick wall. "Might not have the kind of  
space they're used to."

"Could be. Whatever the reason, they'll stay cool," Sonny's voice was  
muffled against the floor. "More bark than bite. Try to  
convince us we're on our own. That they're our only chance."

"They'll use us against each other," Rico added, though he knew Sonny didn't  
have to be told.

"If they can. They'll... oh Christ..."

Rico felt Sonny push himself up, struggling as if he wanted to stand. His  
leg wouldn't hold him and he crashed into Rico, hard, wheezing like he  
couldn't get enough air.

"Sonny!"

But he wasn't listening. Sonny was locked in a mindless fight to pull  
himself upright. Rico tried to curl around the cold body, tried to snap his  
partner out of the sudden panic, even as his own heart nearly burst out of  
his chest.

"Sonny, what is it?"

All at once his partner collapsed as if his strings had been cut. Lay  
sweaty and shaking against Rico's shins.

"Billy," Sonny whispered.

Oh. Oh God. Of course.

"You think they'll threaten your family?"

Rico felt Sonny's swallow against the gooseflesh on his legs. This was not  
good. He needed Crockett as focused as possible, not lost in a nightmare of  
worry.

"We don't even know what they want," he protested. "For all we know, they  
think they snagged Cooper and Burnett."

Sonny shook his head, but didn't argue. The man had a hell of a sixth sense  
about these things.

"Billy's hours away, man. And Castillo will make sure they're okay."

It sounded weak even to his own ears. All Castillo would know was that they  
hadn't checked in. If they were lucky somebody had found the caddie by  
now. Vice might be looking for them but it had been at least eight hours  
since the ambush.

For the time being, they were on their own.


	8. Chapter 8: Trace

**Part 8: Trace**

"What do we know?"

Gina shivered at the lieutenant's low growl. Around the table the other members of the squad fidgeted, tense and strained under the glare of the fluorescents. Zito wiped his forehead with the back of one hand, leaving a grey smudge. Trudy's limp curls stuck to her temples and she fanned herself with a manila envelope. Gina was already regretting the quick shower she'd managed to grab when they'd returned to OCB. It hadn't done anything to relieve the heat and an hour later the tee she'd fished out of her locker still stuck to her back. At least she'd washed off the damn makeup. The conference room's AC had given out a week ago, right in time for the muggy season. Even Castillo's face shone, damp at the edges.

Stan barreled through the doorway before anyone could speak up. He stopped short, searching out his partner, then his attention veered to the lieutenant.

"Sorry," Stan fumbled with a folder and edged into the room to sit next to Trudy. "Okay. Um, I got the brief from the crime scene guys."

Stan opened the folder and shuffled some papers around. He could take apart and reassemble anything with wires in a matter of minutes, but he wasn't blessed with the gift of organization when it came to presentations. Another man would have lost patience with him by now, but Castillo just waited.

"De Soto and his guys were killed with rounds from an M16, all three by the same gun. Very neat-like. Military issue ammo. By the angles the ME thinks the shooter was at least a hundred yards away."

"A sniper." Trudy put down her improvised fan. "Bit advanced for a rip-off."

"Wasn't anything to steal," Gina said, "It was just supposed to be a get-to-know-you session."

"There were traces of a scuffle near the caddie. Tire tracks that don't match either of the vehicles left on the scene. Lab's working on them, but they think it was a van."

"Why take out de Soto and not Sonny and Rico?" Zito shifted in his chair. None of them had said it yet, but the more details they heard, the more they were led to one conclusion.

"Because de Soto was in the way." Castillo said. "Switek, is there anything else in the report?"

_Jesus._ They didn't have much to go on, but Castillo seemed sure that Rico and Sonny were the real targets of the ambush. And Castillo's instincts were rarely wrong.

"Yeah. They found some blood that didn't match the stiffs. AB neg." Stan scratched at his patchy beard. "Same type as Sonny. They also found one of his shoes."

_No_.

Silence settled over the table. The air was too thick.

"And Sonny's gun?" Trudy was always the most level-headed of junior members of the squad. Nearly as unmovable as Castillo, in her own way.

Stan shook his head. "Full clip."

"Trudy, Gina, find out who de Soto was in contact with over the last week," Castillo said from the head of the table. "Get phone records, see if there are any DEA files. Someone besides de Soto had to know where and when the meet was going down."

"You think there was another agency trailing de Soto?" Gina asked.

Castillo rose from the table. His hard gaze swept the room, settling on the empty chairs.

"Switek, get ready to trace any incoming calls. And Zito..." For a moment the lieutenant actually looked uncomfortable. "Take a look at Sonny's boat and Rico's apartment, at their phone records. I want to know who they talked to and where they went over the last week as well."

He hadn't answered her question.

_It's been twelve hours._

"I know."

A mug of coffee and a white paper bag materialized in front of Gina and she glanced up, startled. She hadn't realized Trudy had returned to the squad room. And she must have spoken aloud just now. Either that or Trudy had developed some new skills. Partners were supposed to be close enough to read each other with a glance, but actual mind reading would be taking it a bit too literally.

"It's a bagel," Trudy said, dropping into her seat across from Gina.

"Oh," Gina moved the bag off of the endless printout of phone calls she'd been staring at for the past hour. "Thank you."

Trudy sighed. "Gina, we've all been up for two days. You keep downing coffee on an empty stomach and it'll burn straight through you. Eat the bagel."

She really couldn't argue with that, even if the last thing she felt was hungry.

"Find anything?" she asked. The bagel was warm and slathered with a thick layer of cream cheese. Her stomach turned.

"DEA's got nothing on de Soto. Too low-level for them to bother with."

Gina pried the two halves of the bagel apart and scraped off most of the soft cheese. "Castillo seems pretty sure there's some sort of outside involvement. That someone used de Soto to get at Sonny and Rico."

Trudy watched her pick the bagel to pieces and turned to her own pile of paperwork. "He say why?"

"Castillo? No. He doesn't explain anything until he's ready."

"If then."

"He's been on the phone since you left. With his door closed."

Trudy lifted her head. The lieutenant was just visible through the slatted blinds of his office window.

"What about IAD?" she asked.

Gina shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if they try to pin this on Sonny somehow, but the evidence is hard to spin that way." Sonny and Internal Affairs had a long, complicated history of mutual distrust. So far none of IAD's Sonny Crockett Fan Club had ventured down to OCB. How much of that was Castillo's doing?

"Anything else?" Trudy sipped her own coffee and winced. Yeah. It was pretty bad. Someone had let Larry make the last batch.

Gina took a breath and let it out. "Got a call from forensics. They found a slug on the scene that didn't match the gun that killed de Soto. 9mm. It showed traces of Sonny's blood type."

The door to Castillo's office swung open. Their lieutenant stood framed in the doorway, staring out at the nearly empty room for a moment before his attention flickered to them.

"De Soto's lawyer is down in interrogation. We won't be able to keep him in custody but I want you to see what he knows."

"You think he'll talk to us?" Gina asked.

"He'll talk."

With that Castillo slipped back inside his office, the door closing behind him.


	9. Chapter 9: Connections

**Part 9: Connections**

The lawyer was a little man. He had small feet and his shoes looked custom made. Suit a bit dark for Miami but tailored in that understated way that whispered of money. Gold cufflinks with abalone inlays. Matte rather than slick, his calm surface was ruffled by the way his eyes rolled and jerked any time the door opened. Their people had found him at de Soto's Coconut Grove palace, sipping twenty-year old scotch from a crystal tumbler. He'd come along quietly enough after he heard what had happened to his boss.

"It's my fault," he said before Gina could ask a question. "Oh, God."

"Mr. Pinero-" she stopped short. "What's your fault?"

The lawyer's attention wavered between Gina, who had perched on the edge of the metal table, up to where Trudy stood at his other side. The crisp knot of his tie bobbed when he swallowed.

"No one was supposed to get hurt. You have to believe me."

"Why should we believe you, Pinero?" Trudy leaned over the lawyer's shoulder. "Looks to me like you set your boss up. Did you think you could move into his territory, take over his operation?"

"No! That's not how it was supposed to go down, don't you understand?" Pinero tried to move away from Trudy.

"Make us understand." Gina leaned in, trapping the lawyer where he sat. "Who was de Soto supposed to meet?"

Pinero shrugged. "A low-life wave jockey named Burnett. Him and his money-man, some guy from the islands. De Soto didn't think they'd be worth his time."

"But you convinced him to give them a chance." Trudy could be as good as Crockett at seeing through a mark. 

Pinero nodded. His eyes darted to Gina. 

"Why?" Gina asked, "What did you know about Burnett?"

"Nothing! I'd heard his name a few times, that's all! Rumor was he could outrun anything the feds put after him. I never even met the guy."

"So you changed de Soto's mind based on a few rumors?"

"Why do you keep asking about Burnett?" Pinero straightened in his chair. He glanced past Gina to stare into the mirror.

"Who's watching us?" he demanded.

"Why does it matter?"

"'Cause I wanna know who's back there." Pinero lifted his cuffed hands and pulled at his collar.

"Pinero-"

"And I want a lawyer."

Trudy reached out and grabbed his chin, turned his head toward her. "Pinero, you are a lawyer. Any reason you don't want to talk to us anymore?"

"I know my rights and I want a lawyer present before I answer any more questions. Are you planning to arrest me?"

Gina slid off of the table and scrubbed at her eyes. Great. They couldn't afford a delay like this. Pinero knew something and whatever it was had him spooked. 

The heavy door to the interrogation room swung open. Pinero jerked in his seat and only Trudy's hand on his shoulder kept him from bolting. He stared at the lieutenant, who stared right back until Pinero looked away.

"Who's he?" Pinero twisted in place, trying to get all three of them in his sights at once. "Was he watching us?"

"The man wants a lawyer," Castillo said. "Let him make his call."

"Paranoid bastard, isn't he?"

Gina fell into the nearest plastic chair in the observation room and cradled her head in her hands. She was losing all track of time. Trudy nudged her shoulder and handed her a glass of water and the little bottle of aspirin she kept in her purse. 

"If he set up de Soto he has every reason to be paranoid." Trudy settled on the nearby table.

Gina shook out a pair of white pills. They stuck in her throat and the water tasted flat. Metallic. Dammit. By the time Pinero chilled out enough to tell them what he knew, Sonny and Rico could be dead. If they weren't dead already.

"He didn't seem to have made Sonny." 

"Doesn't mean de Soto didn't know." Trudy turned to Castillo, who was leaning against the wall by the door, his eyes closed. "Have you heard from Larry and Stan, lieutenant?"

"Not yet." Castillo stood motionless. If you didn't know he was there you could overlook him entirely. 

"What do we know about Pinero's contacts?" Gina asked. She choked down another sip of water and then set the glass aside.

"He graduated from Yale law about ten years ago," Trudy said, flipping through Pinero's file. "Even clerked for a Supreme Court justice."

"Was he a member of any fraternities or societies at Yale?" Castillo asked. Trudy squinted at the printout. 

"Yeah. Psi Upsilon, and something called Skull and Bones." 

Castillo opened his eyes. 

"How do you go from Yale to the Miami underworld in ten years?" Gina sat back, rested her head against the wall.

"Has Pinero's lawyer arrived yet?" Castillo pushed away from the wall, heading for the door even as he spoke.

"No," Trudy hopped down from the table, the folder still dangling from her hand. "Lieutenant, what's going on?"

"Make sure no one sees Pinero but the three of us," Castillo ordered, already halfway down the hallway. 

Gina joined Trudy in the doorway. Her partner's eyes were as wide as her own. 

"What the hell was that all about?"

"I don't know," Trudy answered, "But we better do what the man said."


	10. Chapter 10: Drift

**Part 10: Drift**

His head snapped up and a wave of dizziness crashed over him. Opening his eyes took effort and even then all it got him was a blurry smear of white light. It was bright, too bright. He knew he should be cold but all he felt was empty.

He didn't know where he was.

Rico. Where was Rico? Hadn't Rico been here with him?

His leg was hot, like he'd been sunburned. But that wasn't right. He tried to lean forward to take a closer look but something pulled on his wrists, arousing a sharp ache in his back and locking him in place. He couldn't move.

A voice from the light froze him in place before panic could fully sink in. "Good morning, Detective Crockett."

Morning? Was it morning? Last thing he remembered... was Rico. In one of those suits of his that was too dark for the Miami summer. Too hot, but Rico wore them anyway. No. That was before. Before...

Before the shit hit the fan.

Sonny opened his eyes again. He didn't remember closing them. His wrists were tied together behind him and roped to the back of a hard chair, his ankles secured to the chairlegs in the front. Right. The chair was cold against his bare skin. Metal. Less of a chance for him to break free with a metal chair.

This was not good.

He'd never been a POW but he'd known guys who had, back in 'Nam. He knew the drill. Hell, he'd been on the other side of the chair, so to speak. KUBARK. Yeah. Back into the trick bag. Maybe for the last time.

He still didn't know where he was, but now he remembered why he didn't know.

"You've been waiting patiently for hours," the voice continued. "Sorry to wake you."

Yeah, patient. You betcha. As if he'd had a choice. The same thugs who gave him the shower had dragged him out of the cold cell he'd shared with Rico and left him here, hog-tied to this chair. That had been... awhile ago. Long enough to lose track of himself.

His throat hurt and his tongue was stuck to the top of his mouth. It took him two tries to form words. "Who are you?"

"You know that's not important, detective."

Sonny could just make out the dark silouette of a man behind the floodlight aimed at his face. "What the hell do you want?"

"We'll get to that."

_They'll make you desperate first. Drive you mad until you'll beg to spill, just to get it over with._

"Where's Rico?" He knew it was a bad idea before the words left his mouth but he couldn't call them back.

"Hmm. He's speaking with one of my colleagues. An interesting man, Detective Tubbs. Doesn't have your experience with this sort of thing, does he?"

And what the hell was that supposed to mean? Sonny bit his lip to keep from asking.

"You've worked together less than six months and yet you are very protective of one another. It's the same in any war, isn't it, detective? You form bonds quickly with your compatriots under that kind of pressure."

Sonny didn't bother to respond. Guy was looking for a reaction. Whoever they were, he had to assume they knew everything about him. There was no point in hiding anything; but there was no point in giving too much away, either. They knew him as words on a page. Now they wanted to know what made him tick so they could use him against himself. Against Rico.

"Look, pal. I've read the manual too. Why don't you save us both some time and get to the point?"

His observer let out a short laugh. "Since you're so familiar with the manual I don't need to remind you that saving time isn't always the primary objective."

Sonny shifted, testing for slack in the ropes that pinned him to the chair. This wasn't a game he was gonna win. But somehow he couldn't set aside the need to try. "Suit yourself. Don't blame me if you get bored."

"Ah, bravado. Don't worry, Crockett. I doubt boredom will be a problem. Not for me."

He couldn't see anything past the damn light, but the heavy slam of a door told him he was probably alone again. The glare remained even when he closed his eyes. He was starting to miss the blindfold.

_An interesting man, Detective Tubbs. Doesn't have your experience with this sort of thing, does he?_

No, Rico didn't have any idea what they were in for. Sonny had tried to tell him but words just didn't cut it in a situation like this. They might play at good cop-bad cop with suspects; but his partner had never witnessed interrogation by spooks. Rico hadn't been to war. The closest he'd gotten to torture was watching Dustin Hoffman's trip to the dentist in _Marathon Man_.

Sonny let his head fall forward. Everything hurt. The pain spread up from his leg to infect the rest of his body in that way he hadn't felt since the last time he'd been shot. Hot and cold at the same time, 'til he couldn't tell the difference anymore. Next to that the ache in his swollen face was nothing, though if his nose wasn't set soon he was gonna start to resemble a prize fighter who'd seen the ring once too often. Hell. At this point his profile was the least of his problems.

He wouldn't think about Billy. Or Caroline, or Gina, or any of people he cared about - a list that the chaos of his lifestyle whittled down further each year. Right now there was just him and Rico, and that was more than enough to worry about.

And for the moment Rico was on his own. Only thing Sonny could do was try not to make things worse.

If only they'd turn out the damn light... he was...

_...hunkered down at the edge of a clearing, undergrowth dank around his ankles and knees. Moisture dripped from tree branches overhead to run down the back of his neck in a neverending Chinese water torture. Miserable, yeah, but sometimes if he didn't look too hard it seemed like home._

Sonny opened his eyes. He couldn't see the edges of the spotlight anymore, the world had become supernova-bright. 

_A high chorus of tree-frogs broke the quiet haze. Pulaski and his dog were to his right, invisible presences he tracked more by instinct than sight. The dog was trained to hunt in silence through the bush, quieter and quicker than a man could hope to be. They might joke that Kali was the seventh member of the team, but it was the truth. She'd saved their lives more than once._

There had been rumors of cease-fire talks, yet here they were. Far beyond the reach of backup, six men and a dog and a whole nation of people who hated their guts. Sonny didn't blame them, really - he didn't want to be here any more than they wanted him here - but he didn't have a choice, and he wanted his team to make it out alive. So he did what he had to do to make that happen. And he tried not to think about it. There'd be plenty of time for thinking after he got home.

When he got home. If...

He shook his head. He couldn't see. How many times had ma told him he'd go blind if he kept staring at the sun? But it hadn't been the sun that day, and it wasn't the sun now. Eyes open and there was the damn spotlight. Eyes shut and there was the flare, the heat, tossing him backward...  
_  
Pulaski's dog came streaking by his position. It was his only warning._

No. He couldn't think. He needed water. He needed to get the hell out of here, but that wasn't an option at the moment. It shouldn't be so hard, sitting here. Wasn't like they'd done more than shoot him, and even that hadn't been in their gameplan. If only the light wasn't on him like he was on display. Was someone watching? Watching him pinned like a sacrifice, his legs spread open, everything exposed... Shouldn't bother him - he was always on display, it was part of his job. He played a role, same as Trudy and Gina. 'Cept sometimes it seemed like dressing as a whore was somehow more honest than what he did. 

Gina probably wouldn't agree. Not after...

_...and then it was as if the sun had fallen from the sky. For a split second he thought he could actually see it, a huge ball of light, right there in front of him in the clearing. And he stared. Time stopped and all was silence._

Silence. He wished for the rumble of the damn air conditioner, anything, anything at all to hold onto. There was only the light, and his memory of that other light, and it was getting hard to tell them apart. Hard to tell whether his eyes were open or shut. Whether he was here... wherever the hell here was... or there. Then. Where he

_...woke up in another world. A world of no-sound, of roaring, a world which wouldn't stay still. Something wet on his neck, something wet nudging at his chin. Blackness. Maybe the sun had fallen after all. His hands found damp fur. When he tried to move his head..._

everything tilted and spun inside him. Something filled his mouth, and he couldn't swallow. He choked and liquid splashed his chest. There were voices above his head...  
_  
and a growl, a snarl he felt more than heard. Then hands, turning him onto his back, poking and prodding... _

"...antibiotics." A prick on his arm. He tried to jerk away. "...long have you had him in this chair?"

"Eight hours."

"And the point of this is?"

"It's standard procedure."

"That's not what I asked."

His eyes were open. Maybe they had been all along. _Where was Kali?_

"You weren't hired to ask questions."

"No, but if you kill him the boss won't be too happy, will he?" There was a dark spot in front of him, blocking the light. A hand on his chin.

"Detective, I know you're awake. Try and drink some more water."

"Kali?" He lifted his head and managed to swallow a little water. Pulaski would kill him if he lost that dog...

"What's he saying?"

"A name. Callie." The canteen left his lips.

"Who the hell is Callie? There's no one in his file named Callie."

File? The wasn't right. Not what had happened...

"What about his partner?"

_Rico. _Sonny stiffened. Where... oh fuck.

"In the other room." Another shadow drifted in front of him. "Welcome back, Crockett."


	11. Chapter 11: Pinned

**Part 11: Pinned**

They'd taken Sonny first, hours ago, and left him alone with his worry. Sonny's fear for his family had spread to Rico like some kind of virus, multiplying while he waited, burning in his blood. Did they know about Valerie? Angelina was probably beyond their reach. But what about his mother, his grandfather? It was almost a relief when the door slammed open again and it was his turn to be dragged into the unknown.

What was the point of all of this? Sonny seemed to think their captors wanted something; but so far no one had asked him any questions. Besides the knock on the head they had yet to do much more than humiliate him. Seemed like a lot of effort. Must be a reason behind it.

Maybe they were doing it for kicks.

Cold tile under his feet. Back in the shower room? His wrists were released but before he had a chance to enjoy the freedom they were cuffed back together in front of his body.

"Hey, how 'bout something to eat, huh?"

He was shoved to his knees from behind, buttons from his captor's shirt digging into his back, an arm around his throat to hold him still. A thrill of panic settled down to a simmer when his air wasn't cut off. He'd learned enough not to fight but the need to do something sent him babbling.

"Ease up, buddy. Not like I'm going anywhere."

Strong hands on his feet, and he couldn't stop himself from kicking out in surprise. The grip on his throat squeezed until stars burst behind his eyes. Then all at once he was released, coughing and wheezing. He heard retreating footsteps over the freight train in his skull. After a few more minutes he regained enough breath to reach for his throat only to find that he couldn't lift his hands.

He couldn't move. His hands and feet were secured to what felt like some kind of bolt in the floor. He yanked at the chains but all that got him was a pair of sore wrists.

"What the hell is this all about?" His shout bounced back unanswered.

Screaming into the emptiness and pinned down like an animal - he must look the fool. A giggle boiled up. He'd played naked Twister once, in his wilder days. 'Cept for the chains and the fact that he was solo the position was remarkably similar. Of course, this game was bound to end much less pleasantly than Twister.

He lost track of time. Again. Not that he'd had any real idea what the hell time it was to begin with. It was quiet, real quiet, and that started to get on his nerves. He caught himself whistling the ditty from "Bridge Over the River Kwai." Stopped that in its tracks. But at least it was a sound. He missed the familiar whir of the air conditioner. 

His stomach knotted itself up. Given his naked ass and his humiliating position, not to mention the sick pounding in his head, last thing he wanted was food, but his stomach was too dumb to know the difference. Not that food would be an option any time soon. Their captors didn't seem too worried about piddling things like food and water. 

Water. What he wouldn't give for a nice tall glass of water, ice cubes floating on the surface. Or iced tea, no sugar, a pretty wedge of lemon perched on the lip of the glass. Maybe something fruity with a splash of rum and one of those pink paper umbrellas. Yeah.

A throaty snarl shattered his beverage fantasy. Rico froze. What the hell... Another snarl, deeper this time, edged with teeth. He yanked on his hands, turning his head back and forth, trying to see despite the blindfold. His throat closed and his heart tried to leap through his rib cage. 

There was a dog in here with him. A fucking wolf, by the sound of it. His first partner, back in NYC, had got off taking him to see "Cujo" about a year before Raphael bought it. Davis had laughed his ass off when Rico had to leave the theatre in the middle of the film. He fucking hated dogs. Always had. When he was little his mother used to scare him and Raphael with stories about how the police used german shepards on the islands, and his grandfather had the scars to prove it. 

Snarl and a bark, like a lion's roar. Right in his ear. Rico jerked back but the chains wouldn't let him get far enough. He could feel the beast's hot breath on his cheek.

"Get this fucking animal offa me!" His voice was too high-pitched but he didn't give a damn. Cujo growled and snapped and he could hear raucous laughter behind him. 

"Whattsa matter, detective? Dontcha like my pal here? I think he likes you."

"Go to hell!" Rico tried to stop himself from struggling but his body wouldn't obey. All it knew was the sound of angry dog. 

"Already have." It sounded like Baldy, but he couldn't be sure. "That's where I picked up my little buddy."

"Where's Sonny?" Anything to get his mind off the dog.

"Your partner?" Baldy laughed again. By the sound of it, Cujo made a lunge for Rico's throat and was pulled back at the last second. So Cujo was on a leash. Maybe. Hopefully. "Right about now I think he's in Southeast Asia."

And what the hell was _that _supposed to mean? 

Baldy let Cujo take a few more shots at him and then dragged the hell-beast away, laughing the whole time. Leaving him alone. Again. With the quiet.

And his worry. _Southeast Asia_. Vietnam. What were they doing to Sonny? He knew Sonny thought Rico was vulnerable, 'cause he didn't know as much about the Company's habits. He was wrong, though, and Rico knew it in his bones. That knowledge wasn't an asset here. The knowing was already wearing Sonny down, 'cause that was the _point_. Not knowing. Thinking you could anticipate these whackos would only drive you crazy, only play into their hands. They _wanted _you to play their game. He and Sonny were flies pinned in a web, trying to outsmart the spider but oblivious to the hurricane. The spider didn't _matter_. And Sonny would know that, if he weren't exhausted and distracted by gnawing pain and blood loss. 

Even if they saw a chance Sonny wasn't gonna be in any condition to help him take it if they were here much longer. So all Rico could do was try to keep it together in his own head long enough to give Castillo time to figure out what had gone down. 'Cause he couldn't count on these dudes making a mistake. He just hoped they left enough pieces of him and Sonny for Castillo to find.


	12. Chapter 12: Company

**12. Company**

Leon Pinero's neat exterior had been marred by nervous pacing and panic-sweat. When Gina let herself in the interrogation cell he stared at her with too-wide eyes. He backed up a pace as Castillo drifted into the room in Trudy's wake.

"Where's my lawyer?"

"He was here," Gina settled back on the edge of the metal table. Pinero's lawyer had taken one look at the lieutenant, given him a smug grin, and turned to leave without a fight. Castillo ordered a uniform to escort the man out of the building and watched him go with the intensity of a snake studying a mongoose. The man hadn't looked like much, but she'd learned not to question Castillo's instincts.

"Sit down, Mr. Pinero," she continued. "We need to have a little chat."

Pinero obeyed. He seemed cowed by her feminine charms. Some guys were like that – couldn't get as tough with a woman as they would with a man. Good, it would make this easier. With other perps it took an hour just to get them to stop leering.

The lieutenant took up his habitual spot, a detached phantom haunting the far corner of the room. Gina and Trudy ignored their boss and focused on their one link to Sonny and Rico; but Pinero had eyes only for Castillo.

"Who is that guy? I said I wanted my lawyer before I talked to you people!"

Trudy gave Gina a knowing smile. It was clear the lawyer thought Castillo was intelligence, or worse. They silently agreed to leave him in the dark. "Never you mind him. Your lawyer came, but we told him to go away."

"You can't do that! I know my rights, goddamn it!" Pinero shot out of his seat, hands balled into tight fists. "This is America! You can't keep me here without charging me, and I don't have to tell you anything without my lawyer!"

"Funny how you mob types are always so quick to scream about your civil rights." Trudy got in Pinero's face, forcing him backward through sheer intimidation. "What about the rights of the people whose lives your boss destroyed?"

Gina let Pinero dangle from the end of Trudy's scorn for another beat before stepping into the fray. She gripped Trudy's shoulder, easing her partner away from their mark. Pinero's eyes darted between them, his confusion painfully obvious. Had he never heard of good cop/bad cop? For a mob lawyer he was surprisingly naive.

"Mr. Pinero, calm down. We're not interested in you. We're not gonna charge you. You'll be free to go, as soon as you answer a few questions for us. And if you don't want to answer our questions..." Gina shrugged. "Fine. But if you don't cooperate with us, we won't feel the need to offer you our help. You understand?"

"Help?" Pinero straightened his tie, fiddled with his wrinkled cuffs. "Why would I need your help?"

"Because you're a loose end." Pinero jumped at Castillo's rough voice. He'd forgotten the lieutenant in his momentary outrage.

"Wha- what do you mean, loose end?"

"Comeon, Pinero. You're a smart guy. Yale law and everything, right?" Trudy flanked him, one hand on her hip. She stared down her nose at him, the corner of her mouth turned up in smirk. "Think about it."

"Let me tell you how it went." Castillo pushed off the wall and strode forward until he stood just outside of the circle of light cast by the fixture above their heads. He didn't look directly at the other man. "You got a call from a fraternity brother a few days ago. Someone you haven't spoken to in years – a fellow Bonesman. He asked you for a small favor."

Pinero stiffened. "How do you know that? How do you-"

"In return for this favor, he promised to clear up the investigation brought against you by the Florida Bar." Castillo interrupted.

Pinero shook his head. He was starting to go a bit shocky around the edges. Gina didn't blame him. The bit about the Bar hadn't been in the file. Either it was a guess or Castillo had tapped into his tangled web of contacts again. A flicker of a glance from the lieutenant prompted Gina to step in.

"This the guy you called this afternoon to represent you? Your old Yale buddy?" Gina gave him a sympathetic smile.

Pinero nodded. His eyes narrowed. "Yeah? So?"

"So he's connected, right?" It was hard not to grab the man's shoulders and shake him. They didn't have time for this. "All you have to do is convince your boss to take a meeting with a low level player he wasn't interested in, and your friend will make sure all your professional problems disappear."

Pinero fidgeted under their combined scrutiny.

"He got what he wanted out of you, Mr. Pinero." Trudy added. "Did you stop to wonder why he asked you to make sure de Soto met up with Burnett? Did you even care?"

The lawyer shook his head again. He'd forgotten all about his principled refusal to talk in his haste to make sure none of this went down as his fault. "You don't understand. If de Soto found out the Bar was investigating me, he wouldn't just fire me. Daniels said he was the laundry man. Burnett's island backer used him to wash the cash."

Gina glanced at Trudy. Sonny Burnett's "island backer" - Tubbs – got his cash the old fashioned way. He requisitioned it. But Pinero had no way to know that – and his explanation confirmed he hadn't made Burnett. "So your buddy Daniels set up the meet? I bet he suggested a nice, secluded location."

Pinero went white. He shook his head. "You're saying Daniels planned the hit on my boss. He wouldn't do that! He was set to make a percentage on the deal."

"Maybe he got a better offer," Trudy suggested. "How'd he launder the money?"

"How should I know! I hadn't seen the guy for ten years!" Pinero spread his hands. He turned to Gina, the lines of his face twisted and pleading. Gina stayed silent, held her body loose and neutral even as a scream of frustration built in her chest.

"Comeon, Pinero. How'd you know he could keep his end of the deal?" Trudy pushed.

"He works for the American Bankers Association. He's got connections. Plays golf with the Governor twice a month."

"So you called a banker to represent you in a possible criminal matter?" Trudy laughed. "You sure you went to Yale?"

Pinero looked to Gina. Good cop/bad cop worked every time with suckers like this guy.

"I get it, Mr. Pinero. Your boss was dead, you were scared, and you called the only other person who knew what was going down. Someone who had already offered to help you." Gina pulled out her sweetest smile. "Only the guy who showed up? His name wasn't Daniels."

It was too much for him. Pinero deflated, the no-longer-crisp lines of his suit drooping. "What are you saying, Detective? Your spook over there said I was a loose end. What did he mean?"

"You know what it means." Castillo stepped forward again, into the bright light.

A little giggle escaped Pinero. He stared at Castillo. "You think... you think _I'm_ a target."

"The man who claimed to be your lawyer was an assassin."

Gina couldn't hide her surprise. Trudy's eyes were wide too. _An assassin? _The guy hadn't looked like he'd be able to give anyone a paper cut, let alone pull off a hit on the home turf of Miami's Finest.

"You've read too many spy novels. An assassin? This isn't James Bond." The lawyer had regained some of his earlier bravado, but the whites of his eyes were showing.

Trudy recovered first and poured on the contempt. "You've been giving legal advice to a member of the Trafficante family, and you're _surprised_ when someone wants to off you?"

The bluster started to gather over Pinero's head like storm clouds. Trudy must have been taking lessons from Crockett – she was getting damn good at spotting what drove a mark to distraction. With Pinero, it was his pride. Somewhere underneath his wrinkled Armani the guy still saw himself as a legit member of the Yale elite. He might have worked for one of Miami's up-and-coming crime bosses, but he wasn't one of them.

"Sit." Castillo stared Pinero in the eyes until the smaller man obeyed. He sank back in the metal chair and hung his head. If it weren't for the sense that every wasted moment could mean the end for Sonny and Rico, Gina might have felt sorry for the guy. Between Trudy and the lieutenant he didn't have a chance.

"We're trying to help you out, Pinero," Gina leaned on the table again, near enough that the lawyer could smell her perfume. "We can protect you. If you cooperate, we might even be able to put in a good word for you with the Bar."

"And if I don't?" Pinero's jaw was tight, and the palms of his hands pressed into the scarred metal tabletop. He didn't have much defiance left but he was putting up a good show.

"We're not the mob." Trudy looked to the lieutenant for confirmation. "You walk out of here, now, and take your chances."

Trudy backed off then, leaving Pinero with Gina on one side and Castillo on the other, his two choices filling his vision. A smart play. They fell silent, letting him stew in his dilemma, letting the cold threat of the interrogation room sink in further. It didn't take long.

Pinero turned to Gina, his life-line, the only sympathetic face in the room. "You're serious. You think whoever killed de Soto will come after me."

They had him. Now he just needed reassurance that he was making the right decision. Gina nodded. "I think they've already tried. I think bringing you here has kept you alive."

A sharp rap on the door and Pinero flinched. Gina and Castillo stayed put. Pinero had to give the word. Trudy went for the door, keeping as quiet as she could.

"Okay. Okay. Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you. But I want immunity and I want protection."

"You have it," Castillo agreed.

Gina sighed. She hoped the time they'd spent working this guy would be worth it. If it didn't, she just might have to put a hit out on him herself.

"Lieutenant," Trudy called from the door. Gina glanced up. She could just see Zito's red-and-violet print shirt hovering beyond her partner.

Momentarily forgotten, Pinero watched them gather around the door. Zito kept his voice down, uncharacteristically sober. "Stan and I swept Sonny's boat. There was a tap on his phone and bugs above deck and below. Real professional, not the stuff we use."

"What about the Ferrari?" Trudy asked.

"Crawling with them. Whoever did this had him covered, 24-7."

"So they know he's a cop," Gina's stomach clenched. "And they probably know about Rico, too."

Zito nodded. "Stan's at Tubbs's place now. Ten to one it's infested."

"De Soto's organization doesn't have this kind of hardware, lieutenant, or the talent to use it." Trudy had tensed up. Gina knew the look. She'd put something together and didn't like the score.

"Neither does the American Banker's Association," Gina couldn't help but add. She didn't know quite where Trudy was heading but she could see the direction, and it wasn't pretty.

Zito's hands were deep his jeans pockets, and he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Those bugs we found... they're not even on the market. They're easily five years ahead of what the DEA and the Bureau use."

Castillo nodded. "Keep this to yourselves. Talk to Pinero. See if you can track down his contact. He'll most likely be gone, but see what you can find out. And be careful." He slipped past Zito and disappeared down the hall. _Be careful._ Gina could count on one hand the number of times she'd heard the lieutenant give them that particular warning. It meant whatever was going down, it went deeper than they knew.

"I gotta get back to Stan," Zito bit his lip. "We'll find them." He didn't sound too convinced.

Then she and Trudy were alone again, Pinero at their backs. Most likely he'd told them everything worth knowing already. But they had to try. A hand on her shoulder stopped her as she started back into the interrogation room. She turned to find Trudy's dark eyes grim.

"Pinero and his contact were both Bonesmen. You put that with the bugs Zito found and the military-style hit..."

Gina knew she was missing something. "Skull and Bones? I thought it was just some silly secret society."

"A secret society, yeah. But one whose members have been some of the biggest movers and shakers in the country. The Vice President is one. And Bonesmen have a habit of ending up in the Company."

Gina rubbed her arms. She'd broken out in gooseflesh. "Jesus. You're saying..."

Trudy nodded. "Whoever put the hit on de Soto, whoever snagged Sonny and Rico... they've got contacts in the CIA."


	13. Chapter 13: Twist

**13. Twist**

Screams. Screams. High pitched, full throated, teeth-rattling screams. Didn't sound like Sonny, but Rico hadn't seen sign of anyone else kept prisoner here, so who else could it be? The screams were muffled by the wall but he was pretty sure they were coming from the next room. Every so often the sound would choke off and blessed silence would fall for a few minutes. Sometimes ear-splitting music - heavy metal or rap, mostly - would drown out the screaming, but it wasn't a relief. Rico could still hear the screams, in his head. And the music would go on and on, the same track over and over, until it shut off and the screams started again.

When they came for him he was almost grateful for the change.

His wrists were bleeding - he'd pulled on the cuffs without realizing it, trying to get free even though he knew it was pointless. They forced him to his feet and punched him when he couldn't keep his balance, punched him until he followed their clipped, one-word orders. Black cloth over his eyes again, hands behind his back. The sounds shifted and echoed around him and he heard another door slam. Low voices. Ragged breathing, edged with a sound of pain, not quite a moan.

"Sonny?" That outburst gained him a fat lip. The blindfold was torn away and he blinked. Nothing made sense for a long moment. Blurs of light and dark resolved into another windowless room. Baldy and M16 conferred with another man Rico hadn't seen before. To his right Sonny hung limp from a hook in the ceiling, his hands tied behind his back and his shoulders twisted from the strain of supporting his body weight. God. How was the position even possible? Sonny's left shoulder was swollen and deformed. Dislocated. His head lolled forward, chin to chest, his sweat-damp hair stuck to his forehead and obscuring his eyes. He hadn't reacted to the sound of his name.

Baldy broke away from the trio of men and stepped forward. "You move and he dies." M16 smiled and patted his ever-present weapon. Baldy crossed to where Sonny hung near the cinder block wall and picked up a heavy looking hose. The blast of water hit Sonny in the face and his head came up in a drunken roll. Baldy moved the water cannon lower, the force of the water shoving Sonny's body back a foot, twisting him around. He groaned at the strain on his shoulders, but he didn't seem too aware.

"Why are you doing this?" Rico demanded, his own voice hoarse and barely recognizable. "You get off on this? Is that it?"

The faceless man who had dragged him from his cell yanked back on Rico's bound hands. A white-hot agony bloomed on the junction of his neck and right shoulder and he smelled scorched flesh. _Jesus_. No talking. He got it. They kept giving Sonny the worst of it and he didn't know why. The choice didn't seem personal. More like a strategic decision. Didn't make any sense. None of it made any sense.

Baldy dropped the hose and rummaged in a metal box. Came up with a set of wires. He laughed when Rico started to panic. "Whattsa matter? Surely you've seen this in the movies?" As a matter of fact, he hadn't, but then he guessed he wasn't into the same kind of entertainment as Baldy. This wasn't gonna happen. This wasn't _happening_.

Baldy turned away, back toward Sonny again. _Dios te salve, Maria, llena eres de gracia... _When Rico tried to close his eyes the chainsmoker behind him pushed his lit cig into Rico's skin a few inches below the first burn. _Santa Maria, Madre de Dios..._

All business now, Baldy attached the leads to Sonny's skin, one to his left earlobe and the other to his balls. The prayer evaporated, leaving his mind empty and cringing. Baldy fiddled with something and there was a hum and then Sonny's body bucked, back arching, tendons standing out in his neck. Rico started forward automatically, heedless of the others in the room. Baldy ignored him but M16 took two steps forward and aimed his big gun at Sonny's thrashing form. The dude behind him jerked on Rico's arms and his vision greyed out as a third burn joined the others.

Baldy must have upped the voltage, because Sonny shrieked, incoherent, his tied ankles kicking out. Would it help or hurt his partner to know he was here, watching? God. He was gonna kill these fuckers. Maybe the voltage was too much, or maybe they'd just pushed Sonny too far, 'cause after about twenty minutes of screaming Sonny went silent and rigid, his body wracked with convulsions. He was choking.

"Goddamn it! You're gonna kill him!" Rico didn't feel the hands on him anymore. All he knew was that his partner was dangling from the ceiling like a side of meat, seizing like a junkie on tainted smack. The man standing next to M16 barked an order at Baldy, who backed off with a sullen frown. Sonny kept on shaking even after the juice was cut. Rico was on the floor, ears ringing. He didn't remember getting hit.

The third man stepped forward. He had a stethoscope around his neck. A fucking medic. How kind. He waited until Sonny had calmed down to a quiver before checking him out, real professional like. "That's it for today."

Baldy just stood there, the control to the electrical device still in his hand.

"That's it," the medic snapped. "Cut him down."

Mystery man dragged Rico upright, nearly popping his wrist in the process. The blindfold went back around his eyes. He thought he might have fought, might have screamed his partner's name, but he couldn't be sure. Next thing he knew he was back on the cold concrete floor of the first room, the one with the window set near the ceiling. He was on his side again. Staring at the grey brick wall. Staring. He blinked. No blindfold. Rico sat up too quick, had to brace himself with one hand so he didn't hit the deck again. He looked down. His hands were free. When the hell had that happened?

The barred window above his head let in a trickle of light. Daylight. How many days had it been? Something behind him, a movement, a scrape of sound. Rico turned and for a moment he could see nothing but the outlines of the light from the window.

_Madre de Dios_. His partner lay in a heap near the door, like the goons had opened the cell and tossed him inside. Sonny's eyes were open, but he wasn't looking at Rico. Rico wasn't sure he was looking at anything. "Sonny? Jesus, Sonny-" Sonny blinked, his face expressionless.

Rico decided not to risk standing, and the room wasn't that big, so he crawled on hands and knees to his partner. Sonny's eyes didn't track the movement. Had that last shock fried his brain? Rico felt like someone had reached down his throat and was trying to pull his stomach out of his mouth. "Sonny, man, comeon." He lifted a shaking hand. Sonny was lying mostly on his side. Rico ended up touching his bare hip, not wanting to jar his shoulder. Sonny flinched, but it was a weak, automatic reaction.

While he had the light and the freedom, Rico checked his partner over. There was a fresh, dry bandage on his leg, already spotted with blood. Black and green bruises spanned his chest and wrapped around to his lower back. Maybe a broken rib or two. A constellation of angry red circles between his shoulder blades, matches to Rico's trio of cigarette burns. Despite the chill Sonny's skin felt hot and dry under his hand.

"Dammit, Pulaski, getcher fuckin dog offa me." The words were so slurred Rico almost couldn't make them out. Not that they made any sense to him when he played them back through his mind, unless they'd threatened him with Cujo too. He sat back and waited for more, but Sonny lapsed into silence.

"Who's Pulaski?"

Sonny shuddered. Tried to roll onto his back, only that roused his twisted shoulder and dragged out a grunt of pain. "Why're you asking 'bout Pulaski? Pulaski's dead, pal. Been dead for years." Sonny's eyes narrowed and he turned his head back towards Rico, squinting up at him. "Who the hell are you?"

A cold thrill ran down Rico's back. "It's Rico, man. Comeon, Sonny, stick with me here."

Sonny's eyes closed and he seemed to deflate. "Jesus, Rico. I can't see a goddamn thing."

Rico let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "It's okay. Just lie still, partner. They really did a number on you in there."

"Like hell it's okay," Sonny grumbled. "Before they poked and prodded at me they shined a fucking spotlight in my eyes for a double shift. Haven't been able to see more than shapes since."

Rico crouched down, tried to get a look at Sonny's eyes. They were watering, but seemed okay. "It'll come back. Just keep 'em closed."

"Yeah. Least I don't hafta stare at your naked ass anymore." Sonny shuddered again. There were deep lines framing his mouth and radiating from the corners of his eyes. His cheeks were hollow and he was grey under the remnants of his tan. Rico shoved down his worry and the lingering nausea from his own injuries. "Aw, you're just jealous. Fine ass like mine. You know you'll never match it."

His partner let out a gasp, but it wasn't laughter. The lines in his face tightened. "We gotta get outta here, Rico."

"I know, man. I know."

As if the wish had been granted, the door to the cell swung open. M16 poked his head into the doorway, checked their positions and then stepped aside. A new player waltzed in, hands on his hips, sporting a big grin. "Well, hello there, boys. Nice to see you again."

Rico straightened. Sonny had been right all along. They'd been had by a real pro. And chances were this wasn't about them at all.

Fucking hell.


	14. Chapter 14: Contact

**14. Contact**

The beach was bare of revelers despite the heat. Too early, maybe. A litter of crumpled paper cups and fast-food wrappers skittered across the empty stretch of boardwalk, driven by the steady wind. Martin Castillo waited in the shelter of a seaside concession, a tiny cup of cafecito between his fingers. Far out to sea a scattering of cumulonimbus clouds gathered themselves into a looming tower.

Twenty yards to his left a lone beachcomber swept the sand with a metal detector. A rangy hound loped ahead of the man, sniffing at driftwood and clumps of rotting seaweed.

He wouldn't have chosen this location. Too open. Exposed.

It couldn't be helped.

The dog reached him first. It came to a halt three paces away and cocked its head, scenting him, its ears perked and alert. An old beast with a grey muzzle and a fading coat; but its eyes were still sharp. After a long moment it sank to its haunches and let out a low whine.

"She's a good judge of character." The beachcomber discarded his easy gait and straightened. His hair, shaggy and bleached from the sun, obscured his eyes. Jack Brighton had always lived the role as deeply as the best vice cop. Difference was, he never went off duty. Any semblance of an outside life had faded long before Castillo met him.

"Jack." Castillo tossed his plastic coffee cup into the trash. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

He waited for the other man to lead them away from the concession hut. The dog followed, trotting along between them. They stopped just beyond the water's edge, where the dry sand met the farthest reach of the waves. The dog settled on the sand, laid her head on her paws.

The two men stood just out of reach of each other. Wary as ever.

"It's not us, Martin. At least, it's not sanctioned."

Castillo looked into the other man's eyes. Grey, like the storm looming behind them. He'd always thought of this man as _ip__piki-ookami_, lone wolf. He didn't always run with the pack. "Would they tell you, if it was?"

Brighton wasn't insulted by the question. "I'm still in the loop. We didn't take your men."

"But you know who did."

A twist of the lips, not quite a grin. Flash of bared white teeth against the deep tan of his face. "There's talk. You've ruffled feathers, Martin. Gummed things up for men who hate complications."

Castillo stayed silent. Waited.

"You still have de Soto's lawyer in custody?" The other man's hands never strayed from his sides. Younger than he should be, younger than Castillo; but the life he led had carved his face with lines, filled his eyes with faraway deaths. It was like looking into a mirror.

"Yes."

"You turned away the man he called to defend him?"

"Yes."

"Ten years ago you wouldn't have let him go."

Castillo acknowledged this with a nod. "Ten years ago I didn't think about collateral damage."

"Hmm." The wolf tilted his head. "You have changed."

The breeze tousled the dog's ragged coat. Castillo looked away, out to the gathering storm as it pushed forward over the water toward the beach.

"Who was he?"

"One of ours. But you knew that."

"I want him."

The wind picked up, drove the black cloth of Castillo's jacket against his shoulder blades. Brighton wore the frayed cut offs and loose linen shirt of a sand walker. The battered metal detector sat abandoned at his bare feet. Wolf in sheep's clothing indeed.

"I can't give him to you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Martin. You know the score. You haven't been away from the fold so long you've forgotten."

No. He'd never be away so long he could forget. It didn't matter.

"He set up my men."

"Not for us he didn't. Could be he was freelancing."

"You can find out who paid him." It wasn't a question.

"Maybe. Why should I?" Brighton wasn't armed that Castillo could see; but in that moment danger came off him like a musk. Castillo kept himself still.

"Mae Sot."

The air between them vanished, as if into a vacuum. "That was a long time ago."

"You asked why."

"You think I still owe you?" Teeth bared. A rumble out over the water.

"It's not a question of debt." Castillo held the man's eyes. "Back in Mae Sot I let your men go. It wasn't what the locals wanted, but it was right."

The storm growled behind them. At their feet the dog let out a high whine, her ears twitching.

"They were ambushed south of Khao Tham."

For the first time, Castillo broke his gaze and bowed his head. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago," the other man repeated.

"These are good men," Castillo said after a silent moment, after the shades of the dead dissolved. "I'm going to get them back."

"That a threat?" The man laughed. "Martin, get a grip. You're a cop now."

"If the Company has personnel involved, pull them out and I'll leave them alone."

"You're one man, Martin. What do you think you're going to do?"

"I have people."

"You have kids. Cut your losses. Keep the rest of your kids safe."

"The information, Jack. Your boss doesn't like loose canons. They'll be interrogating Daniels. I want to know what he says."

"They have him now," Brighton admitted. He sighed and closed his eyes. "If I hear anything I'll be in touch."

He nodded. It was all he could do.

By the time the storm reached the land, Brighton and his dog were specks in the distance, barely visible. Castillo sat in the shelter of his car and watched them disappear as he waited for the rain to come.


	15. Chapter 15: Pawn

**Part 15: Pawn**

"Menton," Sonny rasped.

"And here I thought all you vice cops were a bunch of bozos." Dale Menton's thick, dumpy body loomed over Rico and his partner from their place on the concrete. "Give the man a silver star."

"Already got one." Sonny grimaced, biting his lip.

"Eh, they give those things out like candy. Got a couple myself."

The first time Rico had seen Dale Menton up close, the man had been sprawled half-naked across satin sheets, pale pot belly peeking through his robe. Then, he'd looked to Rico like a low-level bag man; the kind he'd seen plenty of back in New York. He even _talked _like a mobster. Nothing about Menton signaled his long career with the Company, least of all his cheap taste in menswear. At least that hadn't changed, even if their positions were somewhat... reversed. Menton was the height of Sears Catalog suave in a green and peach plaid jacket and matching slacks, and he hadn't bothered on a tee under his wrinkled dress shirt. Tacky.

Rico managed to pull himself upright – his back straight as he could get it with the burns between his shoulders pulling at his skin. "How'd you get loose, Menton? Last I heard you and your buddy Lao Li were snug as two bugs in prison."

Menton lifted one polyester shoulder. "The usual way. I've got friends, lads, which is more than I can say for you."

"He scuttled through some crack, is what he's saying," Sonny said, with a ragged version of Burnett's casual drawl. "He's nothing but a roach. His own people can't stand him. Too bad nobody had the smarts to step on him while they had the chance."

Menton's lips thinned, hiding his snaggle-toothed grin. "You been taking lessons from Castillo on how to be a sanctimonious SOB? 'Cause I'll tell you what, son," He jerked his chin in Sonny's direction, and Baldy materialized from behind him. Pressed around Menton's bulk and gave Sonny a quick kick in the back. "You've got a long way to go."

Before Sonny had recovered from the blow, Baldy grabbed both of his wrists and lashed them together again, then repeated the action on his ankles. Rico started forward, but Baldy had Sonny's limp body draped over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and had already got to the door by the time Rico made it to his feet.

"Don't worry." Menton said. "We'll be back for you soon enough."

Whatever else he was, Dale Menton was a man of his word. Not an hour later the door swung open again, M16 and Baldy grinning at him from the opening, yelling at him to get his ass up. Like he was gonna cross them _now_. M16 tossed something at Rico once he'd made it upright, which Rico caught out of reflex. An orange cotton jumpsuit, the kind they handed out in prison. What were they playing at now, giving him clothes after everything? It wasn't worth asking. Rico stepped into the jumpsuit, careful of his balance, staring up at the demented duo in the doorway the whole time.

Clothing. Menton must want something. Either that or the man was squeamish. Somehow Rico didn't think that was the case.

He was snapping the last snap when M16 stepped back to let him through. Baldy followed behind, the silent threat of his muscle enough to make sweat break out on the back of Rico's neck. While M16 seemed like a guy just going about his job, Baldy _liked_ what he was doing. And that gave Rico the creeps.

Another door in the anonymous cinder block corridor. M16 didn't knock, just stood aside and waited. A blow to his kidney from behind when he hesitated, nothing serious – like a prod of impatience more than one meant to cause pain. So Rico tried the knob. It turned in his hand – a strange sensation, to open a door under his own power – and the goon twins closed ranks behind him.

"Come on in, Ricardo." Menton called. The CIA man had perched his bulk on the edge of a table inside the small room, the sight of which nearly bowled Rico over with _deja-vu_. Jesus. It looked just like the observation room downtown at OCB. To Menton's right was a wide rectangular window, looking out on darkness. Ten to one the other side of the glass was mirrored.

They hadn't cuffed his hands.

The thought must have risen in Rico's eyes, 'cause Menton's face lit up in smug glee. "Try it. Go ahead. But you won't be the one who gets punished." With that Menton flicked a switch by his hand and the two-way window brightened – the lights flickering on in the room beyond the glass.

In that other room Sonny reacted to the sudden illumination, his head coming up, his eyes wide and unfocused. He was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists again, but this time they were tied over his head instead of behind his back. Rico wasn't sure it was meant as a kindness. At least his partner seemed to be aware of light and dark – maybe his vision was starting to recover. Maybe. Shit.

The door slammed shut behind Rico, sending him whirling, his breath ripped from his throat. Menton was still smirking when he recovered himself enough to turn back around. "You get off on this, Menton? Torturing cops? Messing with our minds? "

Menton shook his head. "Ricardo my boy, this isn't _personal_."

"The hell it isn't!" The door to the room beyond the glass swung open, admitting Baldy and the doctor. It was the same room where they'd forced him to witness Sonny's electrocution. He hadn't noticed the two-way mirror then – he'd had other things on his mind. Had Menton been watching? Of course he had. The slug had probably been here the whole time.

"If it's not personal, than what is it?"

"Business." Menton's fingers tapped the metal table top. He had bitten the nails to the quick. "What is Castillo teaching you kids over in Vice?"

"How to mop up scum like you," Rico spat. It wasn't gonna get him anywhere, he knew that, but it felt damn good.

"So he hasn't bothered with tactics. With strategy. I'm not surprised. Castillo only does what's expedient. He's too well trained for anything else."

"What do you know about Castillo? He managed to out think you and Lao Li."

Menton's smirk curled into a snarl. "I know that once you're in the Company you don't just leave. I know a heck of a lot more about Martin Castillo than you and your pal ever could."

"Castillo was in the DEA. You, and the Company's _tactics_, betrayed him and his men in Thailand."

"You really _are_ a bozo if you don't know the difference between tactics and strategy. Strategy trumps tactics every time. Castillo forgot that little fact. He was warned. His own shortsightedness got his men killed. And if you think that your precious lieutenant's federal career started with the DEA you're more naïve than I thought, _Ricardo_."

He wasn't naïve. He was loyal. But in Menton's book there was no difference between the two.

"What do you want?" Rico asked.

"You're gonna do me a favor." Menton said. He was back to smooth-operator mode now that they'd steered clear of the subject of Castillo. Menton could insist this wasn't personal all he wanted – that's not what Rico had just seen. In the depths of his greasy, polyester heart Dale Menton harbored a hate that went beyond professional rivalry.

"A favor." Rico shook his head. "Not likely. If you wanted me to do you a favor skipping the humiliation and torture would have been a good place to start."

"Oh, I think you'll come around." Menton flicked another switch and the little room was filled with the tinny sounds from beyond the glass.

God. He'd almost forgotten.

_Sonny._


	16. Chapter 16: Pinch

**Part 16: Pinch**

"How much... is the rat... paying you, huh?" Rico's partner twisted in his bonds, a shudder running down his spine. He sounded like he was having trouble getting enough breath to speak, though that didn't stop him from trying. Stubborn bastard. "He... feed you some line about... God and Country?"

Near the edge of Rico's field of vision Baldy leaned against the cinder block wall of the interrogation cell, watching Sonny dangle from the ceiling. A lit cigarette butt perched on his lower lip. His close-set eyes were blank with boredom. The doctor glanced toward the two-way mirror and shook his head.

Rico jumped at Menton's voice, so close after the sounds by cheap speakers. "You and Davy Crockett there don't go back too far. Your concern for him is touching."

An ache pushed through the angry fog in Rico's head and he glanced down to find his nails had bit into the skin of his palm. Menton shifted, drawing his attention back to the other room.

"Yeah, well, I don't expect a goon like you to understand about _partners_, Menton." Rico watched the doctor approach Sonny. He had something in his hands Rico couldn't quite make out.

"Detective, I know you're in pain," the man said to Sonny. "I need you to-" And all at once the sound went dead.

"Just so I have your full attention. I wouldn't want you to be distracted for our little chat." Menton was studying Rico with a calculated intensity he didn't like. Not one bit.

In the other room, the doctor held out whatever was in his hand. Looked like a little glass bottle. Sonny shook his head.

"Are you ever gonna get to the _point_, Menton?"

"He might act the tough guy, but how long do you think your partner's gonna last, Tubbs?" Menton tapped his fingers against the volume switch. "You think what we've done so far is torture? We've barely started. Your _partner _knows that. He knows the playbook inside and out. Do you?"

Rico tore his eyes from the mirror. He had to remember that Menton wanted something. Of course the man wanted something. Okay. Right. So maybe Rico could give it to him. Then the question was, how far could he play along and still get himself and Sonny outta here alive?

"He ever tell you anything about his jaunt In Country?"

Rico blinked. Playbook. And Sonny kept bringing up KUBARK, the CIA's interrogation manual. Menton's hand moved from the room's controls to a stack of manila files Rico hadn't noticed before. His blunt fingers ran along the edge of the top file; it was thicker than the one beneath it by a good inch. The file at the bottom of the stack was easily twice that size again.

"What about it?"

Menton smirked. "Your boy in there wasn't black ops, but he got the job done. Natural talent, the kind that only comes out under pressure. I bet he could tell stories to make your hair curl."

Rico's skin was starting to crawl. The war again. Sonny didn't talk about 'Nam, but then again, neither did any of the vets he knew. Not to people who weren't there; most of the time not even to each other. _They'll use us against each other. _Yeah? Let them try.

"And if you think your partner had some wild times, you should see what I've got on your boss." Menton let out a whistle of admiration. "Hoo-boy. Crockett mighta had talent, but Castillo... Castillo had _genius_."

_What the hell did he want?_

In the other cell, the doctor threw his hands up, like he was sick of arguing with Sonny. Sonny just kept shaking his head. Refusing... whatever it was the doc was offering.

"What's he doing?" Rico asked before he could stop himself. Menton shrugged and flicked the sound back on.

"I don't want it," Sonny forced out. His chest heaved with the effort and even so his voice was thin.

"Look, detective. I don't expect you to believe this, but I'm trying to help you here." The doctor ran his hand through his hair, standing it on end, frustration pinching his face.

"_Help_ me?" Sonny laughed. "Yeah. You've been a great help so far, doc."

"It's for the pain, you stupid son of a bitch," the doctor finally growled, exasperated. Funny how Sonny seemed to inspire that tone in friends and enemies alike. "Your leg is infected. Don't tell me it doesn't fucking hurt."

"Maybe it doesn't hurt _enough_," Baldy said, pushing off from his place at the wall. Rico stiffened. Baldy flashed a grin at the mirror and shoved the doctor aside. The doctor lunged for him, but Baldy shook the other man off without a backward glance.

Then everything went to hell in a cacophony of bodies and noise. Baldy must have done something to Sonny's leg, 'cause Sonny thrashed against the ropes and his scream was loud enough to send the sound system's tiny speaker into a frenzy of feedback. Then the doc tackled Baldy and pulled him off Sonny, only to ricochet off the wall under Baldy's furious counter-assault. Sonny hung from his wrists, both hands clenched around the rope above his head, rigid with agony. Blood poured down his bare shin, the bandage torn loose and dangling from one piece of white tape.

"Goddamn it, Menton, you said it was about _business. _Does this look like business to you?" Rico heard his own voice break. "You can stop this."

Menton sat calm as ever, watching the scene unfold like he had nothing to do with it at all, like it was some lame movie-of-the-week. "Is that what you think, Ricardo? That I'm the one who's gonna put a stop to this?"

"What the _hell_ are you getting at? Are you insane? You've got all the power here, Menton."

But Menton ignored Rico and flipped another switch on the control panel. "Take him back to his cell, boys. You've had enough fun for now."

Menton pushed past Rico and left him alone in the observation room, still shaking with rage and confusion. _They want us on edge. _He'd said as much to Sonny, back before he knew what the hell he was talking about. Days ago. He thought.

No way to tell. He knew he should be hungry by now. The lack of food and water was a sickness swimming in his head, adding weight to his limbs, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. And hunger was the least of their problems. He needed to get Menton to talk. Needed to get a toehold in Menton's plans – Menton wasn't the kind of goon who acted without knowing every move beforehand. Which meant there was a reason Menton was forcing him to watch... watch Sonny. And what they were doing to him.

_A favor_. But what?

M16 reappeared, cold as ever. He tossed a plastic bottle at Rico when he opened the door to the observation room. Water. Rico unscrewed the cap and choked down a swallow before following M16's barked order to leave the room.

"Complements of the doc," M16 said, and shoved Rico down the hall.

"Give him my regards," Rico snapped. M16 just let out a snort and herded him back through the heavy metal door to the original bare cell. It was beginning to feel familiar, feel like home.

Not a good sign.


	17. Chapter 17: Dirt

Staring at the Sun

Part 17: Dirt

_It's irony, man. Irony._

_Hunched on a tiny square of floor in the tiny can, his mind jumped and stuttered over the phrase like a scratched up record. The metal walls of the stall felt as clammy as his skin; the chill bled past the thin barrier of his sweat-soaked fatigues, flooding his bones. Irony. _

_Man._

_Somewhere between the body bag and the sleeping berths he'd lost his helmet. He just wanted to curl up in one of the racks, but even without trying he knew his legs wouldn't hold him yet. And the sight of that stack of metal bunks would be too much right now,with Scotty Shepard's sick-sweet stench and Ira Stone's spaced-out drawl still winding through him, turning his stomach inside out. _

"_You're not gonna believe this," Stone had said, and Sonny should have known better than to follow. The reporter hadn't caught a whiff of the Army CID investigation yet – didn't know about Sonny's not-quite-welcome status as snitch (and it was a helluva thing, having this gig thrust on him just as the ole U.S. of A. turned tail and fled) - but now Sonny was gonna have to spill. Because he couldn't just take Stone's big lead and dump it in CID's lap without giving him a heads up. _

_The fucking Army had known about its heroin problem well before Sonny had set foot in this goddamn country. And he was already tired of feeding CID intel only to have it turned into dirt in a landfill – something to cover up the trash. Or was it the truth? It was hard to tell which was which anymore. Either way, the Army was gonna bury the story so deep that Stone wouldn't know what had hit him. _

_The brick of white powder in Stone's hands, wrapped in tape and protected against the methanol preserving Scotty Shepard's corpse for its long trip home,would be worth a small fortune back in the world. All Sonny had been able to do was stare, and think of Scotty sitting astride a wood crate, grinning like a fool, a joint dangling from one hand. Laughing._

_He couldn't remember what had been so funny._

_His hands shook, hard, as he dug through his pockets, patting them down one by one. Found a dog-eared picture of Caroline and put it back before he could focus on her broad grin. His lighter. A crumpled packet of cigarettes, which he hurled across the room. The space was so small it ricocheted off the wall and landed back in his lap. _

_He'd just had it. Where the hell-_

_He caught himself breathing fast, panic creeping up on him sideways, like shadows at twilight. Fuck this. Fuck. He had to stop. Now. _

_Because it's irony, man... and Stone had no idea how right he was._

"Sonny, comeon man. Talk to me."

"_Crockett, I know you're in there. Comeon, man. I need to talk to you."_

_He raised his head and the little cubical spun. "Not now, Ira. I'm taking a dump."_

"_Losing your lunch, you mean. I'm not a wet brain yet, Crockett. I saw your face back there. You don't think seeing that made me sick?"_

_No, he didn't. But he couldn't say that. Stone was a good guy, if you could ever get past the news hound. And Stone was gonna flip when he found out..._

"Sonny-"

"Goddamn it, why can't you just leave me alone?" His voice sounded wrong. When he opened his eyes, at first there was nothing but a blur. A sick blur, and the stench of old blood.

"Wish I could, partner." There was a familiar note of strain in the answering voice. Sonny blinked and the face that swam into focus was definitely not Ira Stone's. He would have blushed if he'd had any goddamn blood to spare.

"Sorry, Rico. Fuck."

He was leaning against a cold cinder block wall in one of the cells in Dale Menton's house of horrors. Rico hovered over him, something in his hands. And he was... dressed. In an orange so bright it hurt Sonny's eyes. "Where'd you get the threads?"

Rico shrugged it off, sinking to his knees. "Menton. Here, they left me some water."

He didn't remember how he'd got back here from the interrogation room, how he'd rejoined Rico. The plastic bottle slipped from his hand when Rico tried to give it to him. "Sorry," he repeated.

Rico didn't reply, just held the open bottle to his mouth and let him take a few small sips. The water was warm and flat and hard to swallow. After he'd forced a bit more down, he blinked again and looked Rico over.

"You look like shit, man." A new bruise had bloomed along Rico's jaw. There was fresh blood smeared above his upper lip and his eyes were reddened and sunken.

His partner let out a harsh bark of laughter. "I take it you haven't checked yourself out in a mirror lately."

Sonny lifted his hand to touch the swollen, tender skin around his broken nose. The movement set the rest of his body afire, as if it had been waiting for his attention to return to broadcast its complaints. His stomach clenched and heaved and before he could stop he'd coughed the water back up, barely missing Rico's orange-clad knees.

"Sorry," he managed, as the burning in his leg reminded him that the ache in his nose was nothing.

"Stop that," Rico snapped. Silence fell and Rico sighed. "I didn't mean-"

A grin cracked his face and he let it, even if it hurt. "Don't worry about it."

"Menton. He..." Rico broke off and shifted so that he was leaning against the wall next to Sonny, the water bottle between his bare feet. "I was in the next room. He's got a two-way mirror."

The air vanished from Sonny's lungs. All he could think about was how loudly he'd screamed.

"What was the doc trying to give you?" Rico asked. For a long moment Sonny had no idea what he was talking about.

Oh. _Irony_. Right. "Morphine."

"And you didn't take it?"

He shook his head. Shit. He'd never told Rico... he'd never told _anyone_. In the end, he hadn't even told Ira Stone everything.

"Why?"

"It's what he wants."

"Jesus, Sonny, what does it _matter_ what he wants? If Menton wants you to have the morphine he'll just tell the doc to give it to you. You won't have a choice." Rico's fingers wound together, his knuckles standing out pale against his skin.

"I know. Just-"_God damn Menton and his games_. Rico hunched over his drawn-up knees and the shifting air currents set Sonny's skin crawling. The muscles of his injured leg seized and he was barely able to bite off a gasp.

"We helped Castillo snip his golden parachute. You put a_ bullet_ in him. This took _planning_, man," he heard Rico say over the fuzz in his head, "Menton wants something, alright, but I doubt it's to see either of us pain free."

"Yeah," he managed. Shit. Now that it was awake his leg demanded his full attention. As if it had grabbed more than its share of his nerve endings and sent raiding parties up into his belly and chest to conquer new territory. "Forgot I shot him. Guess we're even."

"_Even_?" There was a hand on his shoulder. He winced in anticipation, but the touch didn't register as more than a dull ache. Somebody must have popped his shoulder back into place. Huh. He didn't remember that, either. What else wasn't he remembering?

"...what he wants." Sonny blinked. Rico was talking again. How much had he missed? His partner's hand slipped away, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. "He's got files. Probably on you and me. Maybe Castillo. Who knows what the hell he's got planned? But he better get to the point soon."

A cough shook him and for a long sick moment everything went white and muffled.

"...Sonny? Jesus. Jesus." Rico sounded half panicked, not like himself at all; and Sonny heard Stone again, rapping on the metal door of the can, the sound like a jackhammer in his skull.

"Menton!" Rico shouted.

"_Open up, Crockett!"_

"Menton, I know you can hear me. I wanna talk to you!" Rico was pounding on the heavy door of the cell, and the sound made the room spin, made Sonny squeeze his eyes shut.

"_Comeon. I'm sorry, man," Stone called. "I didn't know he was your friend. Lemme make it up to you, huh?"_

"Menton!"

_Why couldn't they all just shut up and leave him alone?_


	18. Chapter 18: Pall

Part eighteen: Pall

Two days of downpour. A monsoon come late to the game; but not nearly enough to break the heat. Instead the humidity compounded until it felt as if Gina was breathing rain even after she reached the shelter of OCB's lobby. Two days since the lieutenant returned, distant and uncommunicative, from... wherever he'd gone after the assassin had shown up and left again, grinning his sly grin. Two days, and they hadn't learned anything new.

The little lawyer, Pinero, was holed up in a safe house, boring his guards to tears. Now that he'd started talking it was if a switch had broken inside his head. He opened his trap and the words streamed out, steady as the shower outside. Too bad he had nothing to say. Nothing of any use to them, anyway. Nothing to help them find Sonny and Rico.

Gina shook out her umbrella. Her wet sneakers squealed and squelched against the hard tile of the hallway. Castillo had pulled the squad off of all but the most urgent cases. Had a SWAT team standing by. And still they hadn't found anything new.

No more bodies. Not yet. That was a good sign, right?

She pushed damp curls out of her eyes. Dug a ponytail holder out of her purse and yanked her hair back from her face. Checked her reflection in the blank windows of a darkened office as she passed. Messy, but at least it was out of her way. No need for the hooker gear now - she'd stopped bothering with makeup and she'd been wearing the same pair of jeans for days. She'd only taken the time to shower because there didn't seem to be anything else she could do. Sleep felt like an exotic vacation, the kind you admire in other people's snapshots but never believe you'll visit yourself.

_Dammit Sonny. Goddamn it._

The deserted hallway echoed with her footsteps. Her watch read four o'clock, and it took her a good minute to remember that it was four in the morning - the constant downpour made it hard to tell day from night. When she reached Vice she wasn't surprised to find the bullpen empty. The lamp on Trudy's desk glowed, the bright spot throwing the rest of the room into darker shadows. The little light shared space with two leaning towers of manila folders and a steaming coffee mug – Trudy had beat her back to the office and then left again. Her partner had taken to haunting the records room, digging through paper and electronic files alike with a desperate diligence Gina knew was probably useless. She hadn't said so. Not yet. But the tightness around Trudy's eyes said the idea wasn't a foreign one.

There was nothing left to do. Nothing to be done. Just the waiting. Waiting for the bodies to show up. Waiting for a ransom call. Waiting for _anything_. Waiting for something to change, for one of them to break.

Gina figured it would probably be her.

The purse she stashed under her desk. The still dripping umbrella stretched out (_not fully, though - bad luck to open an umbrella indoors_) and left behind her chair to dry. Gina grabbed a handful of files from Trudy's pile and stole a sip of the coffee. Her stomach clenched in protest. And then she froze, arm outstretched above the butted desks, the mug wavering in midair. A sound.

Again. A soft squeak. Only they didn't have rats in OCB. Roaches, yeah, but never rats.

Not the four legged variety, anyway.

Heart fluttering in her chest, Gina completed her initial motion and set the mug down while her free hand went to the leather holster clipped to her waistband. Unsnapped the catch and eased the pistol free. Stepped to the side, clear of her desk, the gun kept low by her thigh. If it was Trudy – well, she'd never live it down.

The lieutenant's office door stood open, the inner room beyond the reach of Trudy's lamp. A creak, and movement inside, and Gina took a breath.

"Lieutenant?" She managed to keep most of the quaver out of her voice. Gina paused at the threshold and let her eyes adjust to the lack of light. She blinked and a man's outline emerged, lighter gray against the dimness. He'd been there all along. Invisible, still, silent. Castillo sat behind his bare desk, his white shirt reduced to a pale stripe against the black of his tie and jacket. His elbows were braced by the arms of his chair, hands cradling his temples, his face hidden.

"Hey, Gina-" Trudy's voice rang out from the bullpen. Gina flinched at the sudden sound as it pierced the silence. The lieutenant's chair squeaked as he turned toward the doorway. His hands dropped and there were empty holes where his eyes should have been. In place of his familiar face she saw a mask, white and black and inimical. A thin veneer that covered something she'd never understand. Something she didn't want to get too close a look at.

Gina couldn't move, pinned by the lieutenant's impenetrable gaze. Then the harsh trill of his phone released her so suddenly she nearly fell against the door frame. She turned away from the man behind the desk as he picked up the phone. Her fingers ached where they clenched the hard metal of her gun. _Jesus_.

Trudy stopped short in the opposite doorway, another pile of manila folders balanced in her arms. "You okay?"

Gina's head nodded, but inside she was still staring into that dark office, at the man she'd trusted with her life uncountable times over the last few months. The man she'd come to respect as much as she had Lt. Rodriguez, for wholly different reasons. But the silent man perched behind that too-tidy desk, the one she was sure she'd only caught the edges of... that man she didn't know at all.

The shivers had just drained away when the lieutenant appeared in the doorway of his office, framed by muddy dimness so that his edges bled away. He stood there, hands thrust deep in his pockets, and stared out over the bullpen. Trudy caught Gina's eye and cocked her head, taken aback at whatever she saw in Gina's face.

"Any news?" Castillo didn't look at them. Didn't move from the threshold of his office.

"No," Trudy twisted around in her chair to face their boss. She frowned, glanced back at Gina. "Stan and Larry went to check on Pinero's guard."

Castillo nodded. "I may have a lead," he said. "I'll call."

_Stay by the phone_. Right. Got it.

"Lieutenant-" Trudy started to rise. With Sonny missing, Trudy was the only one of them left who had the guts to disregard Castillo's silent orders, to question him so directly. "Shouldn't you bring backup?"

"I don't want you involved in this," Castillo said. "Any of you. And my contact is... skittish."

And that was that. Without ever meeting their eyes, the lieutenant stalked out of the room.

"What is it?" Trudy demanded once Castillo's footfalls had faded. The rain buffeted the windows, filling the space with a melancholy percussion. If Gina looked, the glass would be covered with a flowing second skin that distorted the pink and green lights from the nightclub across the street into hallucinatory patterns.

Gina caught herself in another shiver and wrapped her arms around her chest to force it down. Over the last months she'd seen the lieutenant rigid with anger. She'd seen him icy calm in the face of countless tripwire dilemmas. She'd even seen him smile. Once. But tonight...

"I-" How could she explain? She didn't know what she'd seen. If she'd even seen anything. Gina tried on a smile. It didn't fit. "I'm just tired."

Her second time undercover she'd got made. Trapped alone with a big-time pimp who liked to knife his girls, she'd been fixed to the spot, barely breathing. Silently begging, praying to God and her dead mother and the saints who watched over lost little girls, praying that the backup would make it in time. The pimp just stood there. Still and cold in the face of her panic. Assessing her, drinking in her flimsy hooker's garb and her badly hidden terror. And she'd known what it was to be eaten alive without being touched. She'd watched her death play out, reflected in his eyes.

She hadn't felt that way again. Not until tonight.

Trudy's eyes narrowed. Gina folded her too-tight smile away. Trudy always saw through her, like a good partner should. "The lieutenant. He seem okay to you?"

"He's worried." Trudy shrugged. "We all are."

"Yeah." Gina shook herself, turned back to the endless files. "Yeah. Never mind."

Trudy sat back in her chair, her current file falling closed. "Still. He would never let one of us go alone to a meet. Never."

Gina raised her eyes, finally meeting her partner's steady gaze. "Something tells me he can handle it alone."

Whatever she'd seen, she sure as hell knew that much.


End file.
